Stargazing
by DarkSeverus
Summary: With Trunks engaged and her affections ignored, Pan leaves Earth to do some much-needed growing. She returns more mature, more confident, and more willing to fight for what she wants. TxP. COMPLETE!
1. The Past and the Present

**Stargazing**

Chapter 1 - The Past and the Present

I have always been intrigued by the way history repeats itself. Sometimes, a situation will give you nothing more than a mild case of déjà vu until you experience a brief, flashing moment of recollection where you suddenly recognize the familiarity of your surroundings and remember when you last saw them.

Well, now is one of those times.

I smile at my daughter as she walks through the front door after school, and I see myself in her. She has my smile, my hair, and my facial features, and even in personality she is me all over again. Still, when I hug her when she gets into the kitchen and I brush a few stray strands of hair out of her face, she smiles and stares back at me not with eyes that are brown like mine, but with eyes that are identical to the sapphire pair that I fell in love with as a child.

She claims that after the Nakazawa boy up the street broke up with her, she is heartbroken. Her trembling lower lip and intense frown do their best to convince me of this fact, but I shake my head and smile at her sadly, bittersweet memories flashing before my eyes.

She doesn't know what real heartbreak is.

And at these moments, as I watch her glumly climb the stairs to her room, I feel a great swell of pride deep in my heart. She is so much like me.

A moment later, when my mate strolls into the kitchen and wraps his arms around me from behind, I am already lost in memories of the past, and I remember, with a faint smile gracing my lips, how this all came to be...

* * *

I had always been told that Grandpa Goku was a great man – that he was the most powerful, as well as the most selfless, being in the universe. This is how I grew up – hanging onto every word of stories in which Grandpa, Vejita, Dad, Trunks, and Uncle Goten were the heroes. I idolized them as the fearsome warriors who had defeated Majin Buu, Cell, Freeza, and countless other super-villains. They were the reason that I threw myself into my training with such fervor – I hoped that maybe someday I might be worthy enough to fight alongside them.

That dream of mine, at least, came true.

I returned from our adventure with the Dragonballs a stronger person, but I realized that, sadly, the romantic aspect of my life was virtually nonexistent. Contrary to the beliefs of my mother and grandmother, I _did_ know why. I was feisty, stubborn to a fault, fiercely loyal, and cheeky, sometimes unbearably so. Not to mention I could kick ass better than any human on this planet, and quite frankly, that scared most guys away.

But that wasn't all.

I was also in love with my former babysitter, a man fourteen years my senior, and the most unattainable bachelor in the universe…

Trunks.

Don't ask me when it happened, or how. I wouldn't be able to tell you. All I knew was that he occupied a larger space in my heart than any other person. Nevertheless, I was realistic enough to know that I had no chance with him. How could I? I was nothing but the tomboy little girl that he used to baby-sit. I was his best friend, his _Pan-chan_. He only ever saw me as a child, and never even stopped to consider that I might be a possible candidate for a mate. Of course he didn't, not when he was always surrounded by willing, beautiful, _perfect_ women who would jump on a chance just to shake his hand. He would never look at me the way I would want him too, the way that I looked at him when no one else was watching – with unconditional love.

So I never told him. I never told anyone.

But it destroyed me to watch him confess his love to another, to pretend to care when he came to me, ecstatic after just proposing marriage to the woman he claimed was "the love of his life." It tore my heart to pieces to put on a smile and say congratulations when I didn't mean it, when I really wanted to burst out screaming and go kill the bitch that dared to steal _my_ love.

But I couldn't.

I couldn't because he would hate me for it, and because I felt that my life wasn't worth living if he hated me. So I shut in my pain and did what he expected me to do, said what he expected me to say.

But in my head, I had already made a decision that would change my life forever...

* * *

I sat on a tree branch overlooking the front yard of Capsule Corporation, where Bulma was holding a reunion of some sort. This long weekend, all of the Z-senshi had gathered at CC to catch up, as most of us hadn't seen each other for many years. The Briefs, Kuririn, Juuhachigou, Marron, Kame-sennin, Oolong, Yamucha, Puar, Tenshinhan, Chaotzu, Uub, Piccolo, and all of us Sons were there, the majority of us socializing in the courtyard.

Naturally, a few of us weren't.

Piccolo was meditating at the base of the tree I occupied, and Vejita was nowhere to be found, go figure. I smirked. The arrogant prince was most likely training in the gravity chamber, and I decided to go join him. I nimbly jumped off of my branch, landed on the grass and stretched my muscles, then made a beeline for the GR.

"Oi Pan, come over here!"

I saw from the corner of my eye Bura waving at me and smiled brightly. She was standing next to the refreshment stand, close to, I noticed with a mental smirk, the spot where Uncle Goten was stuffing his face full.

"Yo," I offered in greeting, trying desperately to hide my amusement at her obvious affection for my uncle. "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing much," she said evasively. I rolled my eyes, but then decided to play along.

"Ah – okay. Well, you're welcome to stay here and continue crushing on Uncle Goten, but I think I'm gonna go train with Vejita in the GR."

_"Pan!"_ she replied furiously, her cheeks turning bright red in embarrassment. I simply grinned cheekily in response, then left her stuttering in my wake.

I knocked three times on the door to the GR and waited for Vejita's usual gruff "What the hell do you want" before letting myself in. The gravity generator automatically shut off as I strolled in and started stretching.

"Hey, Vejita. Is it okay if I spar with you?"

I think he actually looked less disgusted than usual.

"Do what you want, brat. I suppose could use a good punching bag."

I sniggered. "Not a chance, Veggie-head. _I'm _gonna be the one to pound _your_ ass into the ground," I replied with a smirk.

In a burst of ki, I launched myself into a series of back flips not a moment too soon. _Wow,_ I mused. _He got that Gallick Gun charged up pretty fast._

My feet connected with the wall of the chamber and I kicked off hard, throwing myself into an attack of lightning-quick kicks and punches. Vejita took me head on, meeting me blow for blow and getting in more hits than I could count. Shit. And I hadn't even managed to land a single hit yet!

We continued to exchange blows until he felt we were warmed up enough, and then the fun really began.

The thing I loved most about sparring with Vejita was his creativity - he could come up with attacks and moves that I could only dream of being able to imitate. _That and,_ I added to myself as his fist connected squarely with my jaw, _he never goes easy on me. _Crap. I could taste blood in my mouth.

I had no time to hesitate, however, and decided to take the offensive before he could beat me down any further. Damn, he was fast! He managed to dodge most of my attacks and even countered with several of his own, sending me flying in desperation out of the way of an especially intense ki blast. Turning around, I noticed too late that he had phased out on top of me, and I just managed to brace myself before he brought his two closed fists down on my head.

_Ouch.  
_  
Stunned by the powerful blow, I crashed to the ground and grit my teeth, forcing myself to roll out of the way just in time to avoid another ki blast. I stood up, yelled as I spiked my ki, and prepared to launch myself back into battle when –

_"Vejita!"__  
_  
My blood turned to ice as my ki level dropped. Let me tell you something – Bulma Briefs was one scary lady when she wanted to be. So much that I sincerely commended Vejita for having enough courage to marry her.

As if on cue, the door to the gravity chamber beeped and slid open to reveal the president of Capsule Corporation in a livid rage. Only Vejita appeared unaffected by his wife's intimidating presence.

_Oh, man..._

_If looks could kill...  
_

"What in the world have you done to poor Pan-chan?" she began in a soft, deadly voice before continuing on a lengthy, fiery tirade. "Have you _completely lost your mind, Vejita? _I told you specifically not to get carried away at this gathering! Do you have any idea how important today is? Good Dende, look at her, she's _bleeding everywhere!"_

I winced at the sharpness of her tone. Vejita, however, responded by calmly turning and walking to the showers adjacent to the gravity room. It seemed he was more than used to Bulma's frequent outbursts.

As soon as he was gone, Bulma turned to face me. I braced myself for the onslaught.

"Come on, Pan, let's get you cleaned up," she said calmly. I let out the breath that I didn't know I was holding. "Go take a shower and meet the rest of us out to the courtyard. Trunks has an announcement to make."

"Announcement? What sort of announcement?" I asked her, curious.

"You'll find out in a bit," she answered evasively. She smiled brightly to herself and giggled. I stared at her strangely as she did it again. I had never seen Bulma in such a giddy state before. She was near bursting with happiness and was acting uncharacteristically like a teenager on a sugar high.

More unnerved than curious, I wandered off to take a quick shower, trying hard not to read too much into the feeling of icy dread that was beginning to settle in my stomach.

It was probably nothing but paranoia, I kept telling myself.

Probably.

* * *

Five minutes later I was cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothing, courtesy of Bura. It was a little more form-fitting than I would have liked, but I wasn't that concerned with what outfit I was wearing at the moment, anyway.

I was more concerned with why the sense of foreboding gathering in the pit of my stomach was steadily increasing in strength.

I walked out into the yard - Vejita was already there - and everyone turned around to glance at me. "Good, she's here, now we can start," said Bulma. She still looked giddy, which was seriously starting to freak me out. The fact that Vejita was looking at me calculatingly wasn't helping my nerves, either.

Trunks was standing in front of everyone, Marron at his side. Upon seeing her, I suppressed the urge to growl. They had been going steady for a while now, something that bothered me to no end. I childishly crossed my arms and thought to myself that whatever announcement he wanted to make, she didn't need to be there, clutching onto his arm like some mindless bimbo. I snorted and frowned, sulking. It's not like he needed her help giving a stupid little announcement anyway. She had no reason to be there.

An unbidden thought then came to me. What if she _did_ have a reason to be there?

The stubborn part of me remained firm. They'd only been dating for about a year now, which obviously wasn't enough time for Trunks to decide whether or not Marron was "the one." Then, at the front of the group, Trunks took a deep breath and smiled shakily, looking to Marron for support. He took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers together before looking to face the group again. Then, even the stubborn part of me began to have doubts.

_He wouldn't do that to me, would he?_ I thought, suddenly feeling sick.

_Ah, but you never told him how you felt,_ a little voice in the back of my head replied oily. _He wouldn't know what he's doing to you._

I paled, and the deep sense of dread I felt in the pit of my stomach increased.

_Oh, Dende, please, no ... anything but this..._

I locked eyes with Trunks. Suddenly, I felt cold. Before I knew it, I had forced my face into an expressionless mask. All I knew was that I had to hide the turmoil I was feeling inside. Trunks looked confused for a moment, then regained his composure and opened his mouth to say eight words that would change my life.

"Marron and I have decided to get married."

"No," I mouthed silently. _"No."_

* * *

**Author's Note**: Just as a side note, Pan is about 19 and Trunks is 33.

**Disclaimer**: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	2. Cold Truths and Goodbyes

**Stargazing**

Chapter 2 - Cold Truths and Goodbyes

The courtyard was in an instant uproar, and I was overlooked in the chaos. As the rest of the Z-Senshi strode forward to give the happy lovers their congratulations, I clutched my head and thought fast. I felt lightheaded and faint, and my breathing was labored. I couldn't believe what was happening around me, and I understood suddenly that my body was severely and negatively reacting to the stunning news. Nevertheless, I had one outstanding problem.

I couldn't let Trunks know.

I couldn't let _anyone_ know.

My heart was shattered. The man I loved with every particle of my being had just pledged his life to another woman - a beautiful, smart, and desirable woman. That woman would bear his children and grow old with him. She would stay by his side for the rest of both their lives. She was his chosen mate and would be his closest confidant and partner, through this life and even in the next.

She was, sadly, someone who _wasn't me_.

The pain was unbelievable.

And yet here I was, focusing all of my power and will to achieve one goal. I was using all of the harsh, rigid control I had learned from Vejita over the years to keep Trunks from knowing how much I loved him, how much I adored him, how willingly I would have sacrificed my _life_ for him.

All because my stupid pride demanded it.

Isn't it ironic? How ironic is the fact that the greatest weakness of the powerful, near-invincible Saiyan race was our damnable pride? The same cursed pride that kept me from crying out and revealing the truth that day - that I had always loved Trunks, and could _only_ love Trunks - was the same pride that so many Saiyans before me had lost themselves to. It was the same pride that had prevented Vejita-ou from protesting when Freeza took his only son and heir into his service. It was the same pride that had made my father drag out the fight against Cell long enough for the monster to threaten the planet, which ultimately led to Grandpa Goku's sacrificing his life. It was also the same pride ingrained into Vejita-ouji that still plagued him to this day.

_Our damnable pride._

And that day, another Saiyan fell to the demands of her pride. I, Son Pan, forced all of my broken feelings behind a mask, picked up the pieces of my broken heart, and shoved them into a void where they would be sealed for the next three years.

Because I had decided to leave home.

* * *

_And so the icy mask was erected, the girl could hide, and she was relieved._

__

But unknowingly to her, as she forced herself to pretend to live on, as she smiled and laughed and tricked herself into believing that everything would be okay this way, something terrible happened.

_The girl behind the mask began to wither away and die._

* * *

It was by pure luck that I had forced my face into a somewhat genuine smile by the time Trunks had gotten through the crowd and had reached me. He was grinning from ear to ear and putting his arm sheepishly behind his head like Grandpa had been famous for doing. When he walked up to me, eyes expectant, my heart leapt at the sight of him, but I ruthlessly crushed the feeling down.

"Congratulations."

My voice sounded dead even to me, so I knew he wouldn't buy it. Trunks always had been able to read me as easily as he could read books.

He frowned.

"Thanks," he said slowly, as if debating whether or not to say more. He took a deep breath. "Pan-chan," he began.

I snapped.

"_Pan-chan_," I all but spat, cutting him off viciously. "I am _sick_ of being called _Pan-chan_. I am _nineteen_, for Dende's sake! When will you people stop acting like I'm a little girl and start treating me like an adult? I've traveled through this solar system and the next, helped Grandpa to save the world, fought and defeated some of the most powerful warriors in the universe, and it's _STILL NOT ENOUGH FOR ALL OF YOU?"_ I exploded.

The entire courtyard was silent.

"Trunks," I said in a dying voice, trying desperately to keep my tears at bay. "You have always been my best friend, ever since I was a toddler." I struggled to find the words to explain my situation to him. My decision was already made, but how the hell was I going to get him to understand?

And then I thought of it.

I thought of a way that would allow me to leave, but still keep him from knowing the reason behind it. This way, I could grow up on my own, away from my smothering parents and overprotective family, away from the heartbreaking sight of Trunks and Marron's happy love. If I succeeded... if I could pull this off, I wouldn't have to have my heart broken all over again every time I saw Trunks with his fiancé, and I could leave everything behind with both my mind and my dignity in tact.

So I lied through my teeth to the man I loved most.

"I hope that you can understand this, Trunks," I said quietly, as sincerely as I could manage. "I've been growing up around all of you," I gestured around me to the others, "and I love every single person here. And I know all of you love me too, but you are killing me. I can't live like this, being babied and protected like a toddler. I'm suffocating. How am I supposed to grow? Become independent? Become my own person? I... I can't. Not here, at least" I finished softly, mentally willing him to believe my act.

_Dende, please let Trunks buy it, at least._

Trying to make my performance as believable as possible, I forced a determined look on my face and began again.

"I had meant to tell you this earlier," I addressed the entire group, "but Trunks and Marron beat me to the punch. I would like you to know, Trunks, and you too, Marron," I added reluctantly, "that my decision is not a result of your announcement today. I'm very happy for you both, and I wish you both a long and prosperous marriage."

That outright lie hurt my heart just to say it.

"But I would like all of you to know that I'm leaving."

I took a deep breath.

"The planet," I added.

* * *

_"Son Pan."_

My father had worked himself into a quiet, deadly rage. It was the same sort of fury that could send Majin Buu running for fear of his life. His eyes flickered dangerously as he stalked slowly over to where I was standing next to Trunks and Marron.

"What are you going on about?" he growled threateningly, uncharacteristically Vejita-like. I winced.

"Have you _completely lost your mind?"_ he hissed. "What are you thinking, going off and announcing that you're leaving the planet? If you think for one moment that I'm going to allow this insanity to continue -"

"That's _enough_, Gohan."

I blinked.

Trunks was glaring at my father with daggers in his icy blue eyes, his voice soft and deceptively low.

"You're completely out of line. Regardless of how much I respect you as a friend and as a mentor, I'm telling you that you're wrong." He turned to me.

"Pan's right, she does need to learn to live by herself. And she can't do that anywhere on this planet, because she knows that no matter where she goes, she'll always be within your flying distance." He turned back to my father.

"If she's decided that she needs to go off into space in order to get away from all of this, in order for her to grow into her own person, then I support her in her decision." He was standing defiantly before my father now.

At that moment, I was reminded of the thousands of reasons that I loved him so much.

And it hurt me infinitely more when I saw the engagement ring on his finger, reminding me that he was taken, that I had no chance, and that my love was unrequited.

_But that's alright,_ the voice in my head told me. _You'll be leaving now. You won't have to suffer ever again.  
_  
I sighed and my determination returned.

'That's right,' I thought. 'No more pain, no more heartbreak, no more Trunks...

Ever again.'

* * *

_(One week later...)_

"Gravity stimulator?"

"Check."

"Engine thrusters?"

"Check."

"Hydrogen-oxygen conversion apparatus?"

"Check."

"Ration, clothing, and medical supply storage capsules?"

"Check, check, and triple check."

"Then we're all set!"

I smiled. "Thanks, Bulma. I really appreciate you helping me get this together on such short notice. I know you're really busy."

She waved her hand dismissively. "Nonsense, Pan, it's no problem. Besides," she added warmly, "I think this trip would be a great learning experience for you."

"My dad still doesn't think so," I replied dryly, looking over my shoulder.

It had already been a week since I first decided to leave Earth, and today was finally the scheduled day of departure. Bulma and I had just finished double-checking the space capsule's working condition, and now it was time to say goodbye.

My father, needless to say, was still adamant about my staying.

I sighed. We were all gathered once again in the courtyard of Capsule Corporation. My shining new space capsule was stationed lightly on the grass, and Bulma was throwing me a small private farewell party. My things were packed and on board, and I couldn't wait to go. It had taken me all week to convince my mother and grandmother that this was what I wanted to do, and with Trunks' backing, I had finally gotten their permission to leave for an indefinite period.

'Trunks...'

I looked over to where he was standing, chatting with Goten and Bura, with Marron at his side. He laughed at something my uncle said, and my heart melted at the sound.

'He was never yours. Get over it,' I told myself. I grit my teeth and forced myself to turn away, and once again a cold mask descended over my face.

It was frightening how easily the mask came to me this time.

I had been living the past week like this, hiding what I felt and avoiding my family and friends. I had thrown myself into the preparations, desperate for something to divert my attention from my emotional pain, and so far it had worked. If I had to see Trunks embrace Marron again, if I had to see the way he looked at her when he thought no one else was around...

I'd lose my mind. I just couldn't stand it anymore.

And now it was finally time for me to leave - time for me to leave behind this chapter in my life, to forget that Trunks ever existed, and to let the love that burned so brightly in my heart fade.

But something inside of me knew that it never would.

* * *

I stepped out of the building and back outside, helmet in hand and dressed in a spacesuit. When I walked out, everyone turned to face me, and I looked at their faces one by one.

I was going to leave them all behind.

I first bade goodbye to the Z-senshi - Yamucha, Kuririn, Tenshinhan, Chaotzu, and their respective families - and then moved onto the Briefs. I hugged Bulma and Bura each tightly, and Vejita nodded at me solemnly. I was about to move onto my family when he muttered softly under his breath something that was for my ears only.

"You better know what you're doing, brat."

"I know," I answered in an undertone just as soft as his. And he nodded once again and turned away, heading for the GR. I smiled sadly at his retreating figure, knowing that I would really miss sparring with the guy.

My mother was waiting for me near the end of the line, and I forced a smile on my face. Grandma Chichi was crying, and soon, Mom was too, tears streaming down her face as she walked up to me and embraced me tightly. I was holding back the tears myself, and after hugging them each once more, I turned to Goten and then Dad, expecting the latter to be angry – violent, even.

He only looked at me and smiled sadly.

"I can't believe you're leaving home," he muttered as he hugged me.

"You aren't still mad at me, are you?" I asked him tentatively.

He sighed. "No, of course not. I guess I just wasn't ready to face the fact that my little girl has grown up. I'm sorry for not being more aware of your feelings earlier, kiddo, but I want you to know that you're leaving today with my blessing," he said sincerely.

I smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

He paused and put his hands on my shoulders. "Be safe, Pan," he told me seriously. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

"Don't worry, Dad. I can take care of myself." I pulled away from his embrace, smiling confidently, and gave him a look that said it was time.

It was his turn to smile this time. "I know, kiddo. I know."

I turned away from him then and faced the last two people I had to say farewell to...

Trunks and Marron.

The former managed to pull a grin on his face as the latter just smiled politely. My heartbeat accelerated as Trunks stepped forward and pulled me into his arms, and I returned the favor enthusiastically. His scent was heavenly - a masculine, comforting scent - and after a few moments of being encased in the warm steel of his arms, I reluctantly let go.

"I'm sorry I'm leaving, with you two getting married and all," I said, awkwardly and fighting to keep my tears at bay.

Trunks looked over at Marron and then turned back to me. "Well, we were talking it over last night, and... you know how important you are to me. You're my best friend, and I don't think our wedding would be complete if you weren't there. So Marron and I have agreed to postpone the wedding until you're back," he finished, smiling brightly.

I gaped. "Trunks, I don't know if I'll be back very soon. I mean, this solar system alone is beyond enormous, and I can't guarantee that I won't go off to explore what's outside of it. It might be a few years, even."

"I know, it's alright. We've decided that a long engagement would be fine."

For the first time that week, I smiled genuinely.

"Thanks, you two."

Marron stepped forward and cleared her throat. "Pan, I know we've never been exceptionally close, but I hope that when you get back, that can change. When you get back, I want you to be one of my bridesmaids for the wedding, and I hope we can be better friends after that," she offered, smiling.

I faltered. Memories of the past week flashed before my eyes - Marron hugging Trunks, Marron hanging onto Trunks' arms, Marron laughing at what her fiancé was saying - and I tried to force myself to hate her, the one woman who stole the man I loved. I played the memories of those painful moments before my eyes, hoping desperately for that relishing, intoxicating anger to take over. It had come to me so easily before.

But I couldn't, and it was all for one simple reason that I suddenly realized.

Marron wasn't a bad person.

I hated to admit it, but she was kind, gentle, and friendly to everyone she knew, and it was impossible for me to hate her. Giving in to this revelation, I smiled and gave her a hug, albeit a hesitant one. Then, after looking at the two of them sadly and scanning my eyes carefully over the faces of everyone I loved, I turned and boarded the ship. It took all of my willpower to stand in the doorway and not look back as the door slid shut with a soft whoosh.

As I strapped myself into the pilot's seat and the engine roared to life, I closed my eyes and thought how much simpler life had been when I had hated Marron.

Things had gotten so complicated.

'No matter,' I told myself. 'You're leaving that behind you forever.'

But as I blasted off into the mysteries of space, eyes closed and tears streaming down my face, I could still see that mesmerizing pair of crystalline blue eyes staring back at me.

* * *

Trunks watched as the space capsule launched into the air and became smaller and smaller, eventually disappearing into the stars. He knew he had supported Pan when she had decided to leave into space, but...

Why did he all of a sudden feel like he had lost a part of him?

* * *

**Author's Note**: The next chapter will jump three years into the future, to the year when Pan turns 22.

**Disclaimer**: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	3. Saiyan Pride and Homecomings

**Stargazing**

Chapter 3: Saiyan Pride and Homecomings

_(Three years later…)_

Planet Karun – a beautiful, emerald-green planet located in the fourth western quadrant about 2.6 trillion leagues away from Earth that reminds me eerily of the comfortable home I left behind three years ago. A bustling intergalactic trade center, it's run by the Karunites, a pacifistic and industrial people who look essentially like wolves walking on their two hind legs. To them, this place is home, but to me, it's only a place where I have no choice but to stop, since my space capsule's engine thrusters were severely damaged in an unexpected meteor shower a day ago. I'm lucky that I was even able to make it this far, to be honest.

Luck and good fortune have allowed me to land safely, but I nevertheless have one other problem that poses a threat to my immediate future.

At the height of Freeza's reign, Karun was one of many planets targeted by Vejita-ou's imperial Saiyan army for "cleansing" and resale. During this aptly named Great War, the Karunite population was nearly wiped out to extinction. They were only able to make an extraordinary comeback by interbreeding with a foreign species from a neighboring planet. It has been over seventy years since then, but a central aspect of Karunian culture remains their deep-seeded and violent hatred of any and all things Saiyan.

And this is a problem for me, why?

Because every single article of clothing I own is unmistakably Saiyan.

"Damn," I curse as I slip into my blue body suit and strap on my armor. "Me and my stupid Saiyan pride." I rummage desperately through my closet for something to hide my attire as the autopilot gently sets the damaged spacecraft onto the landing pad. "Ha!" I exclaim triumphantly, digging a long, gray, hooded cloak out of the back of my closet and wrapping it around my armor. I look at my reflection in the mirror to make sure that I am sufficiently covered.

I whistle approvingly.

Three years, and even under this baggy cloak, I look _damn_ _good_.

I set my face into a neutral expression before entering the main hangar, which doubles as a gravity room, and I push my hand onto the security pad. The door opens with a whoosh as the exit ramp lowers itself to the ground, the mechanism whirring softly and the engine thrusters groaning as they automatically shut off. A Karunian guard waves me over.

"Greetings! Welcome to Port Drunos. Will you be staying long?" he asks me in Common Tongue 4, the official language of this quadrant.

I keep my face expressionless, but my voice is friendly. "No, only a temporary stop. I need to repair my ship."

He looks over the damaged thrusters expertly, and shakes his head. "That must have been one terrible meteor shower you went through. You're lucky to have gotten here."

I smile slightly at his observation. "Yes, which is why I'm in desperate need of a good mechanic. Can you be so kind as to direct me to one?"

"Not a problem." He points to one of the busy streets behind him. "Go down that way until you pass the crowded diner, and it'll be the large yellow building on your left."

I give him my thanks and capsulize my spaceship. He stops me, however, as I turn to walk away in the direction he has pointed out to me. The guard smiles a bit sheepishly.

"Sorry," he says, "but you'll have to answer a few questions." He hands me a small handheld computing device. "Government policy," he adds apologetically.

I nod understandably and take the apparatus, touching the screen to prompt it to begin.

"Welcome to Port Drunos," the mechanism chirrups robotically. "Please state your name and planet of origin."

"Son Pan," I enunciate clearly, "from the planet Earth."

"What is your occupation, Son Pan, and your purpose for visiting this planet?"

"I am a student traveler in search of a mechanic to repair my damaged engine thrusters."

"Very well. And the estimated length of your stay is?"

"One or two days."

"And your species?"

"Human," I lie smoothly.

"Very well. The Democratic Republic of Karun has processed your entry and wishes you an enjoyable stay. Thank you for your cooperation." With a final beep, the machine clears its screen and returns to standby mode.

I hand it back to the guard, wave farewell, and walk down the street.

As I'm walking, I smirk and think to myself, 'and one quarter Saiyan.'

* * *

The mechanic's shop is new and well-kept, and as I walk in, I'm greeted by a kind old female Karunian who introduces herself to me as Lekksha, the shopkeeper's mate. She treats me to a spicy beverage native to the planet before the mechanic himself walks out.

"Hello, the name's Fenror. I run this place. Can I help you?"

I put down my drink and place my hand on top of his extended paw in the traditional Karunian greeting. "Yes, I'm looking for parts to replace four damaged MC-31 engine thrusters."

He thinks for a moment before answering. "I don't have the parts," he says slowly, scratching thoughtfully at his silver whiskers, "since I just sold the last of them yesterday. However, I do have a brand new set of four. Just came in this morning. The problem is, they'll be more expensive if you buy them new..." he trails off, looking at me apologetically.

I nod, knowing where this conversation is leading, and reach into my cloak, pulling out a single capsule. I pop it open to reveal a very large and very heavy leather bag.

"Money is not a problem for me," I say briskly as I open the bag to reveal its contents. It's filled to the brim with glittering jewels. "However," I add, "time is. If you please, I'd like you to install them immediately, and I'll pay you straight out."

He looks at me, eyes wide. "That's no problem at all," he answers happily. "Why don't you uncapsulize the ship out back, while I get my tools?" I nod in agreement.

As he hurries away, practically skipping, I smile mysteriously.

He probably doesn't want to know how I got all this money.

* * *

Several hours later, I inspect Fenror's finished work, pleased with the results.

"You have a very experienced hand," I tell him as I give him the bag. He smiles brightly as he takes it.

"Thanks very much. Now I should warn you that since the engine thrusters are new, the ship will ride a little rough, especially upon entering a planet's atmosphere. As you break them in, though, it should return to normal."

I nodded. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you again," I say as I capsulize the ship.

He grins. "No problem. It's been a real pleasure doing business with you. Please, do come again." I place my hand on his extended paw again, this time in farewell, and turn to leave the shop.

Unfortunately for me, as I step through the exit, the whooshing door slams shut before I'm completely through, and my cloak is pulled off my shoulders.

Holy shit.

I'm left standing in the middle of a Karunian street clothed from head to toe in traditional Saiyan armor.

Like I said, _holy_ _shit_.

"_SAIYAN!!_" someone screams, and the street is in instant chaos. Male and female Karunites alike raise their hackles and bare their sharp, venomous fangs at me. A blink of an eye later, well over a dozen of the supposedly pacifistic people have launched themselves at my poor lonely self, their powerful muscles rippling underneath shining coats of silver-gray fur. They bear down on me on all fours, moving at superhuman speeds.

I sigh tiredly.

I switch instantly into survival mode, flaring my ki suddenly and sending the first wave of attackers flying. I kick off the ground powerfully and blast off into the sky, followed closely by several hundred Karunian speeders, all of which are firing deadly lasers at my lonely Saiyan self.

I grin widely.

Somehow, dressed in Saiyan armor and flying at the speed of sound with half a planet of snapping, snarling, murderous superwolves after my head, I feel happier and more alive than ever.

* * *

A few hours and none too few Karunian casualties later, I'm once again surrounded by the comforting darkness of space. The euphoria from the chase still thrumming in my blood, I decide that I've had enough of being bored. I do what any other typical self-respecting Saiyan female would do in this situation.

I beat the shit out of myself.

The main hangar is bathed in an eerie red light as the gravity stimulator whirs quietly. The only other sound in the ship is my harsh, ragged breathing as I continue my ruthless training, hurling one ki blast after another at the metallic walls of the room, only to have them reflect back and hit my already battered body. What's left of my spandex and armor is caked with blood, and my eyesight is starting to fail under the combined pressure of the pain, blood loss, and gravity. After bracing myself for one final hit and managing to stay on my feet, I stagger over to the control panel and shut down the machine, letting out a sigh of relief as I feel the pressure of the gravity on my shoulders and knees ease. The red light fades.

I feel sorry to see it go, as it really is such a soothing, noble color - the same color that the was the legacy of Vejita-sei.

I reminisce a while longer on my lost heritage before easing myself down the stairs to my living quarters. After peeling the remaining shreds of my clothing off my sweaty, blood-soaked skin, I throw myself into the regeneration tank in my bedroom, feeling the overwhelming need to sleep. I adjust the oxygen mask over my face as the tank automatically whirs to life, and pretty soon I lose myself to the darkness of slumber as the comforting turquoise-blue water surrounds me.

Hours later, my groggy mind becomes aware that the regen-tank is beeping meticulously, notifying me that the healing process has finished. The machine drains the central chamber of the healing fluid and I pry the oxygen mask off my face and stretch. I step out of the chamber, soaking wet and stark naked, and head for the shower.

A hot soak in the tub does wonders for my sore muscles.

I walk into the kitchen, freshly dressed in my pajamas – the only clothing I own that is even remotely human – to satisfy my growling stomach. In the middle of a hearty meal, I hear a small beeping from the cockpit.

"Well, I'll be damned," I mutter to myself.

It seems I have a message from Earth.

* * *

The video screen blares to life, and I'm met by the very welcome sight of a very surly looking, spiky-haired Saiyan prince. I grin cheekily.

"Vejita!" I greet him happily. "Good to see you! It's been a month, hasn't it?"

"Save the pleasantries, brat," he cuts me off curtly. He looks at me expectantly, arms crossed over his chest in his classic stance. He raises one regal, dark eyebrow, regarding me impatiently. "Well?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got the pendant like you asked. And let me tell you, it wasn't easy. Those Conan mercenaries are ruthless! One of them nearly chopped off my head, you know!" I gesture to him with mock indignance. "You could have warned me that the blades of their weapons were laced with poison."

"Feh, if you couldn't even handle them, then you don't deserve to have the pendant in your possession," he snaps back at me.

"Alright, alright, no need to get nasty. I just stopped at Karun to repair my ship, but I'll be back within a month with your precious pendant. Do me a favor and tell my parents, will you?"

"I'll do no such thing."

"Thanks. See you in a month, then."

He scowls and the vid-screen blinks off.

I smile.

I'm finally going home.

* * *

Trunks stretched lazily as the last of the foreign buyers left the conference room, satisfied at the progress Capsule Corporation had made. Turning to his vice president and close friend Charles Whittier, he smiled wolfishly.

"Good work, Charles. If all goes well, we'll have them all signing contracts by the end of the month."

His partner smiled back and shrugged. "You're the Prez."

Trunks laughed and stood up.

"Listen, we should go out and celebrate tonight. After all, it's not everyday that we clinch four different multi-billion dollar deals. Call Celeste and set up a double date. I'll call Marron and make reservations at the downtown Bistro."

Charles shifted uncomfortably.

"Er, about that…"

Trunks looked up from the phone. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Um..."

"Pardon?"

"Ah...well..."

"Come again?"

"You see, there's this…"

"Charles, _spit it out!_"

"Well, I, uh, I kinda... broke up with Celeste a week ago," he finished quickly.

Silence.

_"WHAT?"  
_  
Charles winced and turned around to face his shocked friend, running a hand through his shaggy blond hair. He sighed sadly and hesitated.

"I thought you were proposing to her last week. What happened?" Trunks demanded.

"She agreed to see me that night only because she wanted to call it off. It 'wasn't working' and there was 'someone else', apparently. She flew back to London this morning." He slumped over dejectedly.

Trunks frowned and put a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. "Hey, man, if that's the case, then she doesn't deserve a guy like you. And why the hell didn't you tell me this earlier?"

"I... er... I didn't want you to pity me."

"_Dammit_, Charles, why would I pity you?

He didn't reply.

Trunks exhaled heavily in frustration. "_Look_ –" he began.

Before he could finish, the door opened and Bulma plowed in, positively glowing. She was dressed haphazardly, her hair was mussed, and she was short of breath.

Trunks blinked. "Uh, hey, Mom," he said, surprised. "Is something wrong?"

"Trunks! Oh, hello, Charles," she added quickly. The vice-president waved back meekly. "I've got the greatest news!" she squealed.

"O…kay?"

"Your father just told me a moment ago – Pan's coming home!"

Silence.

_"WHAT?"  
_  
"She'll be here in a month!"

More silence.

Bulma stared at her son, concerned, and set her hands on her hips. "Trunks, are you all right? You look a bit green."

"Yeah, I'm fine, Mom, just fine," he mumbled absently before collapsing into a chair.

"Well, in that case, I expect you to immediately begin planning your wedding," she said briskly. "This engagement has gone on far too long, and my grandchildren are long overdue," the blue-haired woman finished, voice commanding.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure Mom, I'll get right on it," Trunks muttered, waving his hand absently. "Three years," he breathed to himself.

Bulma snorted and swept out of the room. Trunks sat unmoving, and Charles stepped forward, a bit hesitant.

"Hey, Trunks, man, you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, just great."

A long pause.

"By the way, who's Pan?"

Trunks looked up and smiled slowly. "She's my best friend who left here three years ago, and I haven't seen her since." Charles motioned for him to go on. "It's a huge deal for her to be coming home, since she left on rather weird terms, but the reason Marron and I are still only engaged is because we were waiting for her to be here for the wedding."

"Well, why didn't you just fly her in on your private jet and then fly her back when the wedding was over?"

Trunks chuckled lowly.

"She left the _planet_, Charles."

More silence.

"Confidential research expedition," he added quickly.

A long pause.

_"WHAT? REALLY? HOW COME I WASN'T INFORMED ABOUT THIS? WOW, THIS IS INCREDIBLE! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? DO YOU THINK SHE'S MADE CONTACT WITH OTHER LIFE FORMS? CAN I MEET HER? WHEN WILL SHE BE BACK? DOES SHE WORK HERE? CAN YOU ARRANGE AN APPOINTMENT FOR ME TO MEET HER?"  
_  
Trunks smiled as his vice-president and head researcher continued rambling excitedly. He gathered his files from the conference room desk and put on his jacket, thinking all the while that it had been far too long.

The rest of the month seemed like it couldn't go by faster just then.

* * *

_(One month later...)_

I look over the control panel of the ship into the familiar darkness of space. Ahead of me, a swirling blue-white orb blinks warmly up at me, welcoming me home.

Home...

Earth.

My eyes are fixed on the beautiful planet below me as the ship begins to prepare to enter the atmosphere, the planet and home I have neither seen nor heard from for the past three years save what little Vejita has said to me. I think of my family, how they will react to seeing me "all grown up" as they would call it, and I muse on what to say to my parents and grandmother. What would have changed in three years? Had Bura finally told Goten how she felt about him? Did Mom and Dad look any different? Would Bulma have already handed down the company to Trunks?

'Trunks...' I think, and my heart thumps.

I shake myself out of my reverie.

'Get a hold of yourself,' I growl to myself ruthlessly. 'You're over him already, remember? Three years, and you haven't seen or spoken to him. You don't need him. You don't need anyone. You'll get home, stay for his wedding, then leave again. Space is where you belong.'

I nod and take a deep breath. As I exhale slowly, the false reassurances work, and I feel relieved again. No, I won't treat Trunks any different than the others, and I won't act as if I'm anything else but a good friend to him. I'll do what's expected of me at the wedding, and then I'll turn around and leave again, so I'll never have to see him again.

"Yea, the only reason I'm coming back is to give Vejita his pendant, anyway," I say aloud to reassure myself.

Even to me it sounds like a lie.

* * *

The ship shakes like it always does when entering a planet's atmosphere, and I expertly guide the craft down to the correct coordinates. The landing gear shifts into place as I peer at the video screen, identifying for the first time in three years the shining yellow dome of Capsule Corporation.

I smile.

I never thought I'd be this happy just to give Vejita some damn pendant.

The engine thrusters flare powerfully as the ship slows down to a mere hover, and I direct it down to the central courtyard of CC. Below me, I can see a long line of people jumping up and down and waving energetically as the ship floats down and lands gently on the grass. There's barely a thump. After three years of practice and experience, my piloting and landing skills are both perfect.

I take a deep breath as I release the straps of the pilot's seat, and my heart soars.

I'm finally here.

* * *

The large group of people stood waiting impatiently, searching for any sign of movement within the shining metal spaceship that had just landed so neatly in the yard.

There was none.

Trunks held his breath as he stood between Marron and Charles, the latter who was quivering with excitement. (His friend had positively begged him to let him come meet Pan and see the landing, so who was he to say no?) He took a deep breath. This would be the first time in three years he would see the girl he had always thought of as his best friend. He wondered what she looked like now, if she still had her orange bandanna, and whether or not she would remember him.

Feh, of course she would remember him, he berated himself. How could she not?

He tapped his foot impatiently when the door of the ship made no sign of opening anytime soon. Trunks growled and seriously contemplated walking up there and busting through the door when the door panel slid open with a beep and a whoosh.

His jaw dropped.

Pan was framed in the doorway, her stance confident and her smile genuine. She was clad in traditional Saiyan armor – boots, scouter, and all – and a serviceable black leather bag swung from a belt that hung low on her slim waist. Her hair had grown long; even tied up almost at the top of her head, it fell down almost to her waist in a glossy waterfall of black silk. As she waved down at her ecstatic family and walked out to meet them, Trunks noticed that her body had changed as well.

In his memory, she had always been a scrawny, awkward, and scrappy young girl in the way that most tomboys were, but the Pan from his memories was no longer the Pan he saw before him. Now it seemed that she finally had grown into her skin, and she looked more comfortable in her own body than before. Trunks watched her closely as she hugged and greeted her family. She laughed with less gusto than before, but more heart, he noticed. She smiled with her eyes now as well as her lips. But what pleased him the most was that her bearing was one that signaled clearly to everyone around her that she had grown into an adult – one who had accepted herself and was happy.

She had become compact and well-built; Trunks could see that her muscles were well-defined under the fabric of her body suit. He wondered what it would be like to spar with her again; he was positive they were not just for show. Her figure was full but not large, and judging only from the way she walked and carried herself, he could tell that she had a seasoned warrior's grace. All in all, she was not conventionally pretty. Far from it, her sharp eyes, arched eyebrows, and high cheekbones gave her a fierce, intense expression. And yet she _was_ beautiful – very much so, he felt – but it was in a wild, raw, unattainable sort of way that he felt difficult to describe with words.

"Dende," he breathed, as a mild blush rose up to his cheeks. How could anyone change that much in so little time?

And then Marron shifted beside him, and he suddenly felt very, very guilty. Who was he to be positively _ogling _Pan – little _Pan-chan_ – when he was engaged to be married in less than a month?

'Don't be an idiot,' he thought to himself as he saw her embrace her parents and grandmother tightly. His eyes couldn't help but notice how the white armor molded perfectly to fit her every curve. 'There's no way you _like_ her. She's fourteen years younger than you, for Dende's sake! And besides, you're just friends. Not to mention the fact that you're getting married in a month, _to someone else_. So yeah. There's definitely no way. Definitely.'

His eyes wandered up and down her body again. He blushed.

Vegita looked over amusedly at his obviously uncomfortable son and smirked.

'The brat's got a better chance than I thought.'

* * *

**Disclaimer**: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	4. Who You Are

**Stargazing**

Chapter 4: Who You Are

After three years of roaming the mysterious depths of space, you can imagine that I've had little – none, actually – human contact since I last left home. When I do stop on a planet, survival demands that I blend in with the crowds. I usually cover myself with a dark cloak and keep to myself, interacting with others only when I absolutely must. With these persistent demands of my lifestyle, my stealth skills have been honed to perfection, and I have become accustomed to never being the subject of any attention at all.

I'm definitely not used to all the attention I'm getting now.

I grit my teeth partly in frustration, and partly out of unease. The feeling of everyone's eyes boring into me and several people talking to me at once is putting me on edge. I would have felt much more comfortable being completely overlooked in a crowd of alien people very different from me, but when faced with my family so suddenly after a long, three-year absence, I suddenly don't know what to do with myself.

A minute in, and my instincts practically scream at me to evacuate the area in order to escape from the suffocating attention. In all honesty, I'm about to comply when my father's loud, absurd exclamation breaks through the fog of my internal monologue and strikes a chord with my brain.

_"__What__ in Dende do you think you're __wearing?__"  
_  
I pause, momentarily stunned. Well, honestly. You'd think that the first words you spoke to your daughter after three years of separation would _not_ be the same eight that just came out of his mouth. And besides, did my father really think that I'd spend the next three years – years I'd spent growing and developing into an _adult_ – dressed in the same baggy clothes of my youth?

I think not.

Growling in disbelief under my breath, I grind out my reply in a deceptively sweet voice. "Dende, Dad. I would've thought that you of all people would be familiar with Saiyan armor. From what I've heard, you did wear it when you were on Namek, you know."

He completely ignores my remark and opens his mouth to make another undoubtedly irrelevant remark. I know then that my hopes of his changing the subject are shattered.

"Have you seriously worn these clothes out in public before?" he asks me indignantly. I scowl, immediately offended.

"What if I have? It's no big deal. Do I really look that bad?"

"No, dear," my mother cuts in. "What he means is that your choice of attire is a bit more _revealing_ than he would like." She looks me up and down, then smiles proudly. "I disagree. I, for one, am happy to see you so grown up." She pauses, trying to reign in her emotions. When she finally continues, it's in a barely audible whisper.

"It's so good to have you back, Pan-chan. We've all missed you so much," she finishes, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

My face softens, and I walk over to give her a hug. Soon, my mother, my grandmother and I are holding onto each other in a tight embrace, and everyone rushes us in a monstrous group hug. I'm swarmed with greetings, questions, and welcoming hugs from the people I love most. I really am getting too sappy for my own good.

Hm. I guess I really have changed after all.

And you know what? Mom just called me Pan-chan, and it didn't bother me one bit.

* * *

Trunks hadn't really been sure whether or not the exotic, beautiful woman who had disembarked from the space shuttle had really been their Pan. For all he knew, she could have been some psychotic alien killer who had murdered his best friend and who was now masquerading as the girl all of them had been so anxiously awaiting for the past three years.

And then she had spoken.

In that moment, all his doubts had vanished. There was no mistaking that sarcastic drawl, that Vejita-like smirk, and the distinct manner in which she tilted her head and scowled.

It was Pan, alright.

But then she had changed so much. As he stood and watched her laugh, smile, and joke with her parents, with her grandmother, and with his family, he had felt so detached from her that it seemed he didn't know who she was anymore. She was the same person, and yet she was different – different in that he wasn't familiar with her interests, her dislikes, and her little everyday quirks anymore.

The level of intimacy their friendship had enjoyed three years before was now gone.

He hated himself for it.

* * *

So far in the grand celebration that has followed my arrival, I've succeeded in avoiding Trunks except for a brief smile and hello. But I know (with a certain amount of satisfaction, I'm not ashamed to admit) what – or more specifically, _who_ has been the sole object of his attention for the entire night so far.

Me.

Three years ago, I would have immediately turned around to bask in such attention from him. I love – no, _loved_ – his eyes. I'm sorry if I sound clichéd, but they truly were the windows to his soul. Trunks always had this uncanny ability to make you feel that, when he was looking and talking to you, it seemed as if the external world disappeared. There was only the two of you, and he had one of those rare, beautiful smiles that made you feel that he was smiling specifically for _you_. It was like he _got_ you in exactly the way that you wanted to be understood. You'd know that he believed in you, just as you always wanted to believe in yourself. He had this awesome ability to make you want to be at your best. It was unbelievable, otherworldly, and intoxicating all at once.

I suppose that's what we call "charisma."

But I'm a different person now. I think that if there was one thing that I took away from my three years of travel in space, it was skepticism. After you see so much pain, evil, suffering, and ugliness in the universe, you start thinking in a way that's defensive in order to protect yourself from what you know other people are capable of.

And one thing that I know now that I didn't know then was that charisma was not always a good thing. I had seen it, on multiple occasions, being used not to bring out the best in people, but as a weapon to control and manipulate them.

Trunks was Vegita's son. Vegita, too, had awesome charisma – but his was very different from his son's. His was dark, mysterious, and beckoning. It drew people to him despite their initial reservations. It drowned out the cautionary warnings of better judgment. A true warrior, Vegita used charisma to expose weaknesses in others. He used it as an advantage in battle. He used it to hurt, and I can't – and don't – blame him for it. In all honesty, if I had been raised as he had been, I would have too.

Deep down, I know that Trunks would probably never be capable of following in his father's footsteps. I know that Bulma had put her mark on her son. He was a good man – sometimes spoiled and arrogant, yes, but still good – and he would never have done what I had seen others do. But I drowned myself that day in a false portrayal of Trunks, only so that it would be easier for me to put a barrier between my interactions with him and my feelings. I had resolved that, in order to protect myself and prevent what I thought I was in danger of doing, I would have to forfeit our friendship and treat him with nothing but respect and cool politeness from now on. I couldn't love him, not even platonically. I wouldn't allow myself to. It just had the potential to hurt me too much.

And so I retreated behind my icy shell in self-defense. After the first hour, I could tell it disappointed and hurt him deeply. He had sensed the loss of our friendship and wasn't taking it lightly. He tried to hide it, but I had read his body language for years. He couldn't hide his pain from me.

This, I _am_ ashamed to admit...

I loved every minute of it.

* * *

I politely excused myself from the conversation my parents and grandmother were holding and slid away and out of the room, sighing with relief. Heading towards the ever-familiar gravity chamber, I saw that the red light was on and that it was in use. I smiled. Go figure. I pressed my still-gloved hand to the security pad – I had refused to change out of my armor, to my father's frustration – and the door opened with a whoosh. The red light faded as I walked in, and I was greeted by the dark scowl of a very beat-up but still somehow regal-looking Vejita.

He stood up from where he was doing pushups on the ground (blood dripping from his nose, arms, and gashed chest, making a mess on the floor) and nodded curtly.

"Brat."

"Vejita-oujisama," I greeted respectfully, bowing my head slightly. _These three years traveling the galaxy and learning more about the history of Vejita-sei have really changed me,_ I mused. Shrugging off my thoughts, I handed him the small leather bag that still swung on my belt. "Sorry it took so long," I added as he took it in his typical no-nonsense manner.

He tipped it over and a small, palm-sized pendant spilled out onto his hand.

And as the light reflected off its surface, illuminating its intricate, detailed design, I saw Vejita smile genuinely for the first time in my life.

* * *

"Hey Trunks, man, where is she?"

Trunks looked around. "I don't know, I didn't see her leave or anything." He quickly scanned the building for her ki and honed in on it. "Don't worry about it, she probably went to say hello to my dad," he added casually.

Charles shrugged noncommittally and shook his straw-colored hair out of his eyes, his stance relaxed and uncaring. Trunks, however, having known his friend for a very long time, caught the almost imperceptible look of disappointment that flashed in the vice president's eyes before they were instantly masked.

Charles began again in a nonchalant way, "So, uh, when do you think you can introduce us?"

Trunks felt the corners of his mouth quirk up in the beginnings of a smirk and decided to play along. "Oh, I don't know, I imagine she'll be rather busy for the first month of her stay here. She has been gone for three years, you know," he replied easily.

He almost laughed out loud as he glanced quickly at Charles' face out of the corner of his eye. It was uncanny how he could just about read his friend's thoughts. He could tell with almost no effort that Charles was thinking desperately of a way to turn the conversation around and still keep it on the same subject topic simultaneously. Feeling sorry for his obviously (at least to him) struggling friend, Trunks laughed and clapped a hand on Charles' back.

"I'm just joking, man. Come on, she just walked in. I'll introduce you now."

Charles dropped his calm and collected façade and smiled sheepishly. "You know me too well."

Trunks chuckled and made a gesture directing his friend to follow him. Weaving expertly through the crowd, he led Charles toward the back entrance of the room and didn't stop until he was standing three feet directly in front of Pan, who merely smiled slightly and raised an inquiring eyebrow, slender but muscular arms crossed over her chest. Trunks felt his heart rate quicken.

And, for once, the most unattainable bachelor in the universe had to put quite a bit of effort into staying cool.

* * *

Charles was a great guy and was actually very much like Trunks. He was raggedly good-looking, charming, well built, and extremely highly thought of among the female population.

But that wasn't the half of it.

Sure, he put up a front of being a suave and social man, but underneath the misleading image of being a womanizer lay an extremely bright mind. Intelligence, an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, ambition, and an strong sense of morality – Charles had it all. In fact, behind Trunks and Bulma, he was most likely one of the brightest people on the planet.

Which was no surprise, considering he had graduated from Oxford University at the top of his class.

That was the reason that Trunks had taken so quickly to him. A year after having taken over the company from his mother, the president of Capsule Corporation had taken the corporation to new heights, raising both sales and profits exponentially. CC had expanded almost infinitely since Bulma's time as its leader, and the new president needed a good, reliable, and smart right-hand man who would be able to handle the pressure of running a global monopoly and who could also keep up with him in the intelligence department.

Enter Charles Whittier, fresh out of college, an ambitious but simultaneously humble young man who had what it took to be the best.

Thus Trunks had taken him under his wing. The young British graduate was ten years younger than his superior, and so had eventually come to be somewhat of a younger brother to Trunks. He shined brightly, coming through when the company needed it, and yet never let his successes or his rapidly growing wealth get to his ego. Charles was really a man of strong morals, and he was always primarily governed by his love of learning. He was painstakingly loyal, always friendly and cheerful, and was one of the few "normal" close friends that Trunks ever had. So Trunks had always thought extremely highly of his vice president, holding him in the highest regards and thinking of him as a younger brother, a friend almost as close as Goten.

But that would slowly but surely begin to change...

* * *

I was pleased to find that Trunks' charm had almost no effect on me the next time he approached me that night. The way he walked up to me with his friend was completely normal, and I was grateful for the calm atmosphere. To be telling the truth, I was getting quite tired of playing mental games with everyone I spoke with, keeping myself constantly vigilant and forever watchful. My life in space had never been easy, but it had been an escape, and now that I was home, I was beginning to feel blessed just for the chance to relax and be myself.

_But you can't relax too much, _I reminded myself. _At least not when you're around Trunks. _

I could tell instantly that he was going to introduce me to his friend, and I took this opportunity to size the man up quickly as the proper greetings were made. My arms crossed over my chest plate and my eyebrow raised in my typical sardonic manner, I gave him a once-over as he told me his name.

"Charles Whittier. It's a pleasure to meet you." He smiled slightly, a bit wary of my cold exterior, and held out his hand at first tentatively but then with more confidence.

Hm. This one must have more courage than I originally expected.

I smiled warmly to throw him off and grasped his hand in mine. "Son Pan," I grinned. "So _you're_ the esteemed vice president I've been hearing so much about," I said cheekily.

To my surprise, instead of shaking my hand, he raised it up to his lips and placed a light kiss over my knuckles. Hiding my initial surprise expertly, I grinned even more widely, a mischievous edge entering my previously neutral tone of voice.

"_Well_, Trunks, you'll have to introduce me to more of your friends. I hope all of them are as charming and good-looking as this one," I winked good-naturedly at Charles. He laughed, and I decided that I liked its pleasant, reassuring sound.

"The pleasure's all mine. You don't get to meet someone as stunning and unique as yourself everyday," he replied smoothly and without hesitation.

Oh, man. This guy was a total flirt! Still, considering that this was my first time home in three years, I figured there wasn't any harm in having a little fun.

I smiled mischievously. "No, you don't get to meet someone as stunning and unique as me more than once in a lifetime," I answered good-naturedly.

He laughed, and I felt a bit more comfortable acting like I'd always wanted to – flirtatious, but in an unattainable sort of way. It felt good.

"And clever, too!" he exclaimed. "But then again you must be, to have been sent on a confidential research expedition by the Prez, here." He made a gesture indicating Trunks, who raised an eyebrow amusedly.

Huh? Confidential what?

And then it clicked.

"Without a doubt," I covered up smoothly, not missing a beat. "I'm sure you've been anticipating the results of my research for a very long time. But of course," I gave him a significant look, "it was, after all, a confidential mission. You'll have to swear to keep the knowledge of all of my data under wraps." He nodded, understanding completely.

"So, let's say we get together sometime to discuss your findings? What about," he hesitated falsely for a brief moment, gesturing with his hands, "maybe... seven o'clock tomorrow night?"

I smirked, amused by his forwardness. "Will this... ah... _discussion_ require formal dress?"

"...It _might_."

I smiled. In general, Charles was a pleasant, well-rounded and witty guy. To his credit, not once did I catch him ogling my figure during the conversation, which was a lot more than I could say for other males I'd encountered in space. His quick wit and clever humor was entertaining, and I could tell that we'd get along just fine. I decided that I liked him enough to try and see if his companionship would help me forget my previous infatuation with Trunks.

_Not_ that I was having any difficultly doing that, of course.

"I accept your offer," I said warmly, then switched to a more businesslike tone. "Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I promised Vejita that I'd spar with him outside." I made as if to walk away but then stopped and turned my head towards Charles at the last minute. "Until tomorrow night, then," I nodded in acknowledgement, then smiled.

"I'll see you here at seven," came the swift reply. He smirked, a rather close copy of Trunks' and Vejita's trademark look. 'Not bad, actually,' I thought.

I walked out of the building, away from its bright and cheerful lights, into the darkness where Vejita and an impending ass kicking awaited.

* * *

Trunks didn't know when it all started, but he sure as _hell_ didn't like it.

Since when did Charles' flirtatious and friendly personality start pissing him off that much? Not since... not since _ten minutes ago!_

Here he had stood, trying to nicely and modestly introduce his friend him to Pan, when that... that impetuous _flirt_ had initiated a sequence of events that had made his blood boil.

First, he had had the audaciousness to kiss Pan on the hand when she meant just to shake it. Sure, Charles did that to just about every good-looking girl he came across, but... but _still!_ Trunks had had to suppress the urge to punch him in his stupid face when Pan had laughed and even flirted back. He didn't know from where this sudden, unprecedented wave of envy came from, but it made him _mad_.

Which made him _confused as hell._

Sure, he had admitted to himself that Pan had grown up into a very attractive woman. But that was no reason for him to lose his head like that. For Dende's sake, Charles had no idea how close to death he had just come! Why the _hell_ was he, Trunks Briefs, an engaged man, fighting other guys – no, not just other guys, _Charles_, for Dende's sake – off of _Pan_ of all people? Why should he give a _gay Ginyu_ about whom his close friend and vice president dated, even if it was one of his best friends (who, he added mentally, barely acknowledged his existence ever since she had returned)?

Charles was a great friend, almost like a brother. He was loyal, understanding, and very much like Trunks.

But then why the hell did he have the urge to go out there and rip his _friend's_ head off? Why did he go green with envy and mad with jealousy every time Charles and Pan shared suggestive, playful looks?

Only Dende knew.

And then Marron had finished a conversation with Bura and had walked over to him, lovingly wrapping her slender arms around his waist and burying her head into his shoulder, hugging him in that gentle, caressing way of hers.

Trunks only returned the gesture out of habit.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	5. The Saiyan Ouji Reborn

**Stargazing**

Chapter 5: The Saiyan-Ouji Reborn

Trunks drummed his fingers absently on the surface of the dining table, trying – and failing miserably – to take his mind off certain… _things_.

Pan was out with Charles tonight. For some reason, every time he mentally repeated that statement to himself, the anger burning in his chest quadrupled.

_So?_ an annoying voice in the back of his head asked him. _What does her going out on a date with someone else have to do with __**you**__?_

"Nothing," he snapped back at it angrily, inadvertently responding out loud. "It has absolutely nothing to do with me."

_So you're here… why?_ the voice asked him oily.

"I just… am," he snarled, realizing even as he said it how lame the excuse was.

_Ah. I see. You're __**concerned**__ for her, are you? Playing the part of the protective best friend? Then your intentions are completely pure, I assume. _

"Yeah, they are." Trunks didn't like how defensive he was beginning to sound.

_Of __**course**__ they are, _the voice quickly assured him. _And I'm also sure that this has absolutely nothing to do with how upset you've been as a result of her less-than-warm attitude towards you since her return. She __**is**__one of your closest friends, after all, isn't she? It's __**normal**__ for you to want to look out for her. _

"Yeah, that's right."

_So may I ask you __**why**__ you feel such an abnormal amount of hostility to the man she has chosen to give her affections to?_ the voice asked wheedily. It paused for effect when he didn't answer. _At the same time, you might also want to think about why __**she**__ is the one visiting your thoughts so frequently when it __**should**__ instead be your fiancé. _

He couldn't answer that one, either.

_Well, in your defense, _the voice went on,_ she __**has**__ become extraordinarily beautiful, hasn't she? But then again, she was __**always**__ beautiful. She was simply too young in the beginning for you to bother to take notice. It's not your fault. You didn't know, so you went ahead and chose someone else when, in fact, it was __**her**__ personality that resonated with yours the most. And now __**she's**__ gone and chosen someone else, at the precise moment that you begin to recognize her as a woman. What a horrible predicament you've gotten yourself into. Why, you must be absolutely __**furious**__ with yourself!_ the voice pointed out cheerfully.

Trunks growled angrily and managed, although only barely, to keep himself from reducing the dining table to a pile of wood splinters.

The fact was that everything his conscience had so cruelly pointed out to him was true. He _did_ hate himself. He had known when Pan began having romantic feelings toward him when she turned thirteen. He'd known and chosen to ignore it. It had been so easy to brush it off as a teenager's crush. She was only a child and he was an adult, and he felt embarrassed that she had thought he could ever reciprocate her feelings when he was so much older than she.

Then she turned sixteen, and then eighteen, and then nineteen, and he'd realized that she wasn't a child anymore. What's more, she began looking at him with more intensity in her eyes than _any_ teenager's crush could ever produce. He realized suddenly that it was very possible that she _loved_ him, and that he was running out of excuses to dismiss her feelings. The most he could do, he told himself, was get on with his life, find the right woman, and marry before things got any more complicated.

He'd done exactly that (minus the actual act of marrying, that is), but now Pan was back in his life, and quite frankly, she scared him. She scared the living hell out of him – not because she was so young and beautiful or that she had felt so _strongly_ for him in the past – but because he'd felt the real, overwhelming, _dangerous_ possibility that he could come to _love her back, _and with just as much intensity. And what the hell was he supposed to do if he _did_ fall in love with her? There was the possibility that she had gotten over him already, if her budding relationship with Charles was any indication. And besides, he was engaged to Marron, and had been for the last three years. What the hell was he supposed to say to _her_ about all this? What could he possibly do to not hurt her if push came to shove and the shit hit the fan?

_You know,_ the voice added wheedily, _nobody said the choice would be easy. Nope, it definitely isn't easy… but it sure is __**simple**__._

"Shut up," Trunks barked, his voice muffled by the fact that his head was resting on his arms.

"Talking to yourself, now? And I thought you could sink no lower."

Trunks lifted his head, a scowl on his face.

Vejita smirked.

"Don't look at me like that, boy. Your insanity comes from your mother's side of the family. If anything, go blame _her_."

Trunks ignored the remark, miffed that his father had caught him in such a pathetic-looking situation.

"Why aren't you upstairs?" he asked quickly, changing the subject.

Vejita raised an eyebrow. "Because your loud-mouthed, yellow-haired harpy is in my room with your mother, making plans for the upcoming ceremony of your union. Needless to say, my tolerance for such irritating chatter wears thin quickly."

Trunks frowned. "You shouldn't call her things like that. Marron's going to be part of the family soon, you know."

Vejita scowled. "Not if I can help it," he replied deadpan.

Trunks stood up. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded angrily.

"It means that she, like you, is a disappointment."

Trunks was stunned into silence. For a moment, the father and son pair stood in the kitchen without speaking.

After a long, moment, Vejita finally spoke.

"Three years ago," he began slowly, "you would have thrown yourself at me in a single-minded attack after I made that first remark." His brow furrowed even more deeply, if possible. Trunks kept his eyes fixed on the floor, not daring to look his father in the eye.

Vejita snorted humorlessly, then glared at his son with contempt. "You've forgotten, haven't you? You've _completely_ forgotten who you are! Then let me _remind _you – you are _my son_, and the heir of the Saiyan throne. Our planet may be destroyed and our people may be near extinction, but you are _still_ the Saiyajin-no-ouji! Looking at yourself now, do you think you are worthy of such a title? Do you think you are worthy of calling yourself Saiyan, even? I will tell you now that _never_ would our race have tolerated such a weak and useless prince!"

Trunks swallowed with difficulty, stunned. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Vejita continued relentlessly.

"Look at yourself, boy. Our people were a proud race, warriors to the bone. As you are now, not even the lowest class of Saiyan soldiers would have acknowledged you as his equal! It matters not that you can ascend. You do not have the _spirit_ of a Saiyan. You do not fight hard enough for what you want. What's worse, you don't even know _what_ it is you want! The same, if not much worse, can be said of the woman you are choosing as your life mate. I ask you now with all seriousness, Trunks – what are you making yourself to be, boy? What path are you choosing to walk, and why? Can you look me in the eye now and answer this one simple question with no shame or hesitation in your heart?" he demanded.

Trunks was silent.

Vegita narrowed his eyes. "Again you disappoint me. It seems that _that_ is all you do nowadays." With those harsh words, he turned around and walked out of the room, leaving Trunks standing alone in the kitchen, hurt and ashamed.

His father had spoken the truth, one that he had been afraid of admitting for years. Where was his pride? How had he lost sight of the Saiyan half of his heritage? When had he transformed from the powerful son of the great Saiyan-ouji into nothing but an easily shot-down human weakling?

He had forgotten what blood flowed in his veins.

It had all started in his teenage years, he reflected, when he had first started officially dating Marron. They were in high school, and he was proud – arrogant, in fact – with the knowledge that he was the heir of Vejita the Saiyan-ouji, the prince of the most powerful race that had ever lived. He reveled in the fact that he had the power to destroy entire planets at his fingertips. He loved the excitement and thrill of battle. He was Trunks-ouji, a Super Saiyan and a warrior prince.

But then that had all changed.

_Why? _

Thinking hard, it hit him.

It had been because of _her_.

Marron had first caught his eye because she was different – she wasn't just another girl who was after his money or one who was easily conquered by his charm and good looks. She was the daughter of a Z-Fighter and an android, someone who understood his unique power and respected him not because of it, but for the inner strength that came with learning to control it. She didn't idolize him or cling to him unbearably – in fact, at first _he_ had been the one to actually woo her in order to convince her to be his girlfriend – but rather she was casual and friendly in his presence, someone he could really rely on and eventually learned to love.

She had been absolutely _perfect_.

...Or so he had thought.

There had been one gigantic flaw in their relationship: she cared too much about being "normal". He had been convinced that he loved her, that they were perfect for each other, and that they would end up spending the rest of their lives together as they were, but that wasn't good enough for Marron. She was adamant about concealing their "freakish" pasts, their special abilities, and their superhuman strengths, and he was never allowed to court her in the way that he had wanted to – by flying through the clouds with her in her arms, but promising that he would protect her as his mate for the rest of eternity, by sparring with her until their bodies collapsed to the ground in a tired heap – but she hadn't understood his "strange" Saiyan urges. She hadn't even tried to.

He jumped up in realization.

She had taken his Saiyan blood and drained it out of him, leaving behind nothing but the human President of Capsule Corporation she had always desired. She had been blinded by the importance she placed on living a normal life, so much so that she had even killed a bit of him just so she would forever remain living in a semblance of normalcy. She didn't train, she didn't fight, she didn't share stories with the rest of the Z-senshi... she just flat out _didn't care_.

And so she had suffocated him.

Still, Trunks thought despondently, the worst thing wasn't that she had molded him into what _she_ had wanted him to be; it was that he had _let_ her. If he couldn't even be himself around her, how the hell were they supposed to get married now? "_Dende!_" he breathed in frustration.

Trunks sighed, sat down at the dinner table again, and held his head in his hands.

**Thank you, Father.** **I needed that.**

His only reply was the telepathic equivalent of a snort informing him that his father had accepted his message. Trunks smiled. No matter what it looked like, Vejita cared about him more than he did about anyone else – except maybe for his mother and sister.

And either way, his old man certainly was perceptive.

Trunks sighed heavily and stretched languidly. He felt better already. Now that he knew what his problems were, he could face them and get his life (and his messed-up relationship with his fiancé) back on track.

In the gravity chamber, Vejita stopped in the middle of a pushup for a moment to shake his head in frustration. "_Idiot_ boy," he muttered under his breath before resuming his harsh training.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Trunks jumped up from his chair, startled.

"Huh?" he said dumbly, looking around in confusion. His eyes were met by a very amused Pan walking in the front door, clearly just back from her date. She was still in formal dress and was looking at him with poorly concealed curiosity.

He exhaled softly at the sight of her in evening finery, only to remember exactly _who_ she had just been out with. His good mood was shot down like a rocket.

"Oh, it's _you_," he muttered coldly.

She frowned, but didn't comment. After a brief pause, she continued. "_Well?_ Are you going to answer me or not?" she demanded in her usual haughty manner.

He breathed in wearily but conceded. His poor, aching head really couldn't handle any more arguing and thinking at the moment. It was already far too overloaded, almost to the point of bursting. He debated on how to answer.

Silence.

"_Trunks!"_

"Alright, alright," he placated, clearly at a loss of words. He began slowly. "I was just thinking about the wedding," he said slowly, unsure of why he was telling her this. He stared at his hands in embarrassment, and thus missed the deep scowl that now adorned her face.

Pan paused. "What about it?" She tried to keep her voice devoid of all emotion.

Trunks sighed and ran his hand through his hair like he always did when he was exasperated. "I don't know, I guess I'm just thinking some things over." He peeked at the young woman sitting next to him, waiting for her reaction.

She simply nodded in acceptance and bothered him no further. Making as if to rise and stretching lazily, Pan took her leave and turned towards the foot of the stairs.

She ran straight into Marron.

"Oh hello, Pan. How was your date?" the blonde asked the taller woman cheerfully.

"It was fine," was the neutral answer. "I'm going to tell Bura about it now, just like I promised – you're welcome to join us if you want," she offered awkwardly.

Marron looked pleased and grateful for what she correctly recognized as a real effort on Pan's part to befriend her.

"I'd love to," she accepted graciously. "I'll be up in a few minutes. I have to talk to Trunks first, okay?"

Pan simply shrugged and trudged up the stairs, clearly itching to get out of that dress.

Trunks looked up from where he was sitting as Marron cleared her throat. "You needed something?" he asked her, trying desperately to shove away his mixed feelings about her.

"Yeah, I was thinking that since tomorrow's your day off we could spend the day preparing for the wedding. I've scheduled meetings with a florist and a caterer, and of course there's the appointment with the designer Bulma recommended, and I almost forgot, we need to find a decent photographer, too." Trunks restrained a growl as she continued babbling. "I've got a timetable set up for us both, I've written it down here somewhere, and your mother made some really interesting suggestions I think we should think through –"

"I'm not going."

Marron's head snapped up in shock. "Excuse me?" she asked, bewildered.

"I said I'm not going."

Her blond eyebrows furrowed in rising anger. "And why _not?_" she hissed.

"I'm going to train with my father all day. I won't have time to go shopping or visiting florists or whatever," he stated flatly.

"_Training?_" she exclaimed indignantly. "You expect me to pass off this perfectly good opportunity to get things done for _our_ wedding because you want to _train_? Don't be silly, Trunks, we've got more important things to do," she waved her hand dismissively.

Trunks growled menacingly. "I said I was going to train. Is there something wrong with that?" His voice lowered threateningly.

"Why would you want to start training again after all these years anyway? As far as I can see, it's just a waste of your time. You could be solving more pressing problems, like helping me plan _our_ wedding, for one. You can train some other time, just not tomorrow."

_"No."  
_  
"Trunks, I _swear_ –" Marron began angrily.

Trunks snapped.

"Don't you _dare_ swear to me about what you couldn't even _begin_ to understand!" he snarled viciously. "I've given up my entire _heritage_ just to be with you, and this is how you treat me back in return? By shoving aside my needs and desires like they are _nothing_?" He paused and glared at her heatedly. "I'm human," he stated flatly, "but I'm _also_ a Saiyan – a _prince_. You can't ever take that part of me away, no matter how hard you try, and if I say I'm going to train, then I'm going to train. _End of discussion_!" he spat.

He stormed out of the room, leaving a shocked and hurt Marron alone in the room.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the silence.

* * *

Bura had lent me a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, something I was exceptionally thankful for, given how uncomfortable that dress had been. I soon found myself perched cross-legged on her bed, trying – and failing miserably, I had a feeling – to dodge her very pointed questions.

"So?" she prodded eagerly. "How was it?"

I sighed inwardly. "Is there a secret female code of doom that I don't know about that says I have to tell you about everything?" I asked her tiredly. "Because this is the sort of thing I'd very much rather keep private, you know."

"Don't be such a spoilsport, Pan," Bura demanded. "Now spill the beans, or so help me, Dende, there'll be hell to pay." She glared.

I took one look at that glare and decided to give in.

"It was fine," I shrugged. "Just your typical nice dinner with light conversation, followed by a stroll around the park." I paused and frowned slightly. "In three-inch heels," I added in an afterthought.

Bura winced. "Not used to them yet?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Not used to them _ever_, you mean. I never understood how you can run around in them like your ankles _weren't_ screaming for you to stop."

Bura puffed up her chest proudly. "It's a gift."

I laughed, then suddenly stopped when I felt a spike in Trunks' ki.

"What is it?" Bura asked me, confused. "Is something wrong?"

I frowned slightly. "It's Trunks. His ki just spiked, is all. Something must have happened."

Bura opened her mouth to say something no doubt dismissing my seriousness as paranoia, but whatever she was about to say I never got to find out. We were interrupted as the door of her room swung open suddenly, revealing behind it an extremely sorry-looking Marron. I can honestly say that in all my years, I had never seen the woman with such a sad and dejected expression before.

Bura was immediately on her feet and in no time had a comforting arm around the blonde's shoulders, leading her into the room. She played the part of the concerned, soothing friend to a fault.

"Is everything okay?" she wheedled as Marron sat gingerly on the edge of her bed. The woman didn't answer, so I decided to satisfy my curiosity and stepped in.

"Did something happen with Trunks?" I asked her gently.

She looked at me pitifully, eyes sparkling with tears, and nodded.

I sighed resignedly. "I knew it. I felt his ki level spike a second before you walked in," I explained.

Marron dried her tears delicately, and began to talk. "Trunks and I had an argument," she began, "because I was selfish and forgot that it takes two to make a relationship work."

I raised an eyebrow, then prompted her to continue. She obliged.

"Trunks wanted to start training again tomorrow with Vejita" – I nearly fell over on Bura's bed, I was so surprised – "but I kind of blew up on him and basically told him no." She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Needless to say, he wasn't happy about that, and I did some thinking." She sniffled and paused. "Dende, how could I have been so _stupid_?" she exclaimed to no one in particular.

_So_… I thought to myself. _He's angry with her._ A small feeling of hope billowed up in my chest, and angered by the thought that I was still reacting to Trunks this way, I crushed it ruthlessly.

"You need to talk to him," I told Marron seriously. "You need to tell him you're sorry before it's too late."

_Before it's too late and I fall for him again…_

Marron gave me a watery smile. "Thanks, Pan. I can always trust you to give some simple and honest advice."

I smiled steadily despite the fact I was feeling anything but inside.

_I don't love him. Not when I have Charles,_ I thought to myself firmly.

_Yeah, right,_ the annoying voice in my head laughed. _Sure you don't. _

_Shut up._

* * *

**Disclaimer**: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	6. Into the Lion's Den

**Stargazing**

Chapter 6: Into the Lion's Den

In all honesty, I trusted neither Marron nor Trunks with the situation at hand. I couldn't expect either of them to successfully mend the rift that had come between them, Trunks because he was seriously pissed off and Marron because of her lack of understanding in the "Saiyan culture" department. So, like any good friend, I took it upon myself to pull some strings and get them back together.

It was ironic, really. I ended up trying to salvage the one thing that had driven me away from home in the first place...

Trunks' love for Marron.

Was I crazy? What was I _thinking_? Had breathing the exhaust fumes from my space capsule altered my mind completely? Why was I going out of my way to save the relationship that had been the bane of my existence for nineteen years?

It was true – desperate people really _did_ do crazy things.

So, while Bura busied herself trying to console the unhappy blonde, I resolutely headed for Trunks' room, knocked on the door, ignored the muffled "Go away", and let myself in.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

* * *

Trunks sat with his back to the door with his face in his hands, finally feeling the repercussions of what he had said to his fiancé. After his initial anger at Marron finally faded, he felt overwhelmed with guilt. Why had he blown up at her? Couldn't he have spoken calmly and rationally, like an adult? What if she thought he didn't love her any more? At that thought, he briefly contemplated rushing into Bura's room and apologizing for everything he'd said. Maybe he'd been wrong to ask her to change her way of looking at him. Had he been right in thinking that she hadn't cared about his heritage? What if _he_ was the one who was blind to the truth, and had made a fool out of himself for nothing? His head became jumbled with his confused thoughts, and he could feel the beginning of a migraine prickling in his skull.

He moaned pathetically, and slumped over his knees in defeat.

"Stop moping and feeling guilty, you idiot. Sulking doesn't become you."

He looked up, irritated at the intrusion, and locked eyes with the one person that he didn't want to see at the moment – Pan, who was lounging carelessly in his doorway. She had changed out of her evening gown, he noticed, and now donned a Capsule Corporation t-shirt and a pair of Bura's pajama pants. Fighting back a shudder at her disarming glare and clearly irritated state, Trunks sat up and hurriedly put on his best scowl.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"For you to stop being a complete _ass_ and go talk to Marron," she shot back at him, undeterred by his rudeness. "And don't think you can get away with taking your anger out on _me_, Trunks," she added. "Talk to me like that again and things will get _really_ ugly around here."

He winced at her sharp tone and decided that it was in his best interest not to argue. "Sorry," he mumbled reluctantly. "I'm not in the best of moods right now."

Her expression softened, and neither of them spoke for a moment. Sighing resolutely, Pan rolled her eyes and walked into the room, closing the door firmly but gently behind her.

"_Fine_. Out with it, then." He looked up in surprise to see her lower herself into sitting position in front of him, looking at him expectantly. "_Well_?" she snapped impatiently. "You've apparently got a lot on your mind right now, and I'm not just about to let you sit here alone and wallow in self pity. If you're willing to talk, I'm willing to listen." She raised one eyebrow and waited for his response.

Trunks was thrown off by this sudden change in attitudes. First Pan had come back from a three-year absence just to ignore him for a whole day, and now she was asking him to talk to her about his feelings and his crumbling relationship with his fiancé?

There was something wrong here, that much he knew. She was sending him mixed signals, and he didn't like it one bit. Deciding to ask her about it later, Trunks answered her only for the sake of playing along.

"Well," he started grudgingly, "I guess I'm just upset because of something my dad said earlier." Hesitant to continue, he paused and looked up at her questioningly. She nodded encouragingly at him, her entire attention focused on listening to what he had to say. Satisfied, he went on.

"He said something pretty nasty about Marron today, and when I called him on it, he said that she was a disappointment to him, and so was I. Then he went off on me, and the gist of what he said was that I was unworthy of the Saiyan race."

"He said that specifically?" Pan interjected sharply.

"Yeah, but I don't think he meant it. More like, he said it to make me think about some things that have been going on in my life lately." He looked at her interested face shrewdly.

"Why do you suddenly care so much about this whole thing anyway?" he finally asked, raising one eyebrow in curiosity. "It's not like you're best friends with Marron or anything, so why does it matter to you if I'm mad at her?"

"I'm _your_ best friend, aren't I? Or do you not want me to care?" she asked, clearly annoyed at his query. Her tone was clipped and unpleased.

"It's just that when you got back you ignored me and I thought that you didn't consider me one of your close friends anymore," he blurted out.

Silence.

"Is that part of the reason you're upset?" She asked quietly. "Because you thought I didn't care about you as a friend anymore?"

He nodded slowly.

Shaking her head, Pan let out a deep breath. "You're still my best friend, Trunks, no matter how far away I've traveled or how long I've been gone. Sorry about the way I act, but a lot of the places I visited weren't exactly safe, and a lot of the time I couldn't act like myself. I had to seem unruffled at everything, and I learned pretty quickly to hide all my discomfort or fear or whatever so that others wouldn't think I was weak. It's become a habit, so I can't really help it if I come off as cold or distant. Sorry if it threw you off," she finished, clearly embarrassed and uncomfortable.

More silence.

Trunks felt extremely stupid. Here was Pan, back from three years of what seemed like a horrible isolation, and he was moping because she didn't worship the ground he walked on anymore? He felt horribly selfish and ungrateful.

"Don't worry about it," he finally managed to say. "It was my fault for not having more faith in our friendship." Another awkward pause. "Friends?" he tried lamely.

She laughed musically and smiled. "Friends," she stated sincerely. She got up to leave but paused when she got to the door. He waited for her to gather her thoughts, and then when she spoke it was in almost a whisper.

"You should try to talk to Marron," she advised softly. "It may seem that she doesn't understand you on purpose, but she loves you very much and can't help being, well, human. If you try to communicate to her your feelings, maybe you'd get along better."

Trunks nodded. "I'll try."

"And if talking to her doesn't work," Pan added before slipping out the door, "you can always come talk to me. Anyway, I've gotta go. I promised Vejita I'd spar with him, so I'm off to get my ass kicked. Do me a favor and pick up my remains after I'm through, okay?"

"Sure thing. Do you want to be buried or cremated?"

"Haha, very funny," she said sarcastically. "I appreciate your encouragement, but – oh, shit! Look what you made me do! He's been waiting for ten minutes already! Damn it, now I'm _really_ dead."

After she left, Trunks found himself wondering why it was that he preferred talking to his best friend over talking to his fiancé – the woman he would spend the rest of his life with.

A comprehensive answer to that question evaded him.

* * *

I stretched my senses out into the night, muscles coiled in tense anticipation and eyes narrowed and searching in the darkness. My stance was alert and my breathing was shallow; every single fiber of my being was completely and utterly focused on one single objective: survival.

As it always was when I was playing the part of the prey rather than that of the predator.

My ears strained to pick up any sound that might give away my invisible opponent's position, and I spread out my ki to try and pinpoint his location. A small breeze blew past and cooled my rigid, edgy body as I forced myself to keep my mind clear and calm, preparing for the attack that I knew was coming.

Unfortunately for me, my hunter was a master of the hunt.

According to my instincts, there was nothing here at all. I was surrounded by complete and absolute silence; not even the snap of a twig or the rustling of leaves broke the eerie stillness surrounding me, something that was extremely disconcerting. I knew the dark prince was moving quickly and soundlessly around me, waiting for an opening in my defenses that would be an opportunity to strike, but I just couldn't find him. The complete lack of any sign of life around me threatened to make me falter in apprehension, which was precisely what I knew he was waiting for.

I didn't let him have his way.

My head snapped to the right as I threw myself backwards, avoiding Vejita's vicious aerial attack by mere millimeters. His gloved fist had been propelled downward so fast that before he could withdraw the unsuccessful attempt of an assault, it was driven directly past the soft grass and into the earth where it was buried up to his elbow, and I took this rare chance of his immobility to launch a few hits of my own.

None of them made it past his perfectly calculated and executed evasive maneuvers.

I smirked.

Withdrawing his arm from the ground, he straightened, and his brows furrowed in concentration as he pushed his power level as high as he could without transforming, and soon his energy was pouring off of him in giant, overwhelming waves. I had to fight just to stay on my feet and eventually was forced to ease the stress of my legs by raising my own ki, ignoring the roar of his power and the daunting thrill of fighting against such unbeatable odds. Suppressing the urge to grin, I focused my own power until a bright blue aura kicked to life around me, raw energy dancing around my body in lively flames.

Righting myself, I drew in a deep, ragged breath and smirked openly at Vejita, who returned the favor. After adjusting our stances and letting out identical war cries, we threw ourselves at each other, lost in the addictive delight only Saiyans can derive from a battle.

And then we clashed.

* * *

Trunks looked up from where, after he had patched things up with his fiancé, he had been reeled into going over wedding magazines with her, Bura, and his mother. Turning his head towards the window, he honed in on two kis that had just spiked sharply outside. He recognized the larger one to be his father's, familiar in the sheer magnitude of its power and in the thick, dark characterization of it. The other one was vaguely recognizable as Pan's. Trunks was surprised at how different it was from what he remembered her ki signature to be. Hers used to be primarily cheerful and bright, but now there was a dangerous edge laced around it as well.

The feeling of it made him smile.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Trunks blamed his thoughts on a lustful infatuation he seemed to have acquired for Pan. Concluding that this situation was temporary and that in no time he would be able to look her in the eye normally again, he turned his attention to other matters. The fight that he knew was taking place outside stirred awake his Saiyan blood, and he quickly tuned out the earnest voices of the eager wedding planners in order to better attune his senses onto what was going on outside.

He did so just in time to feel the two powers collide.

Impressed by the level of power Pan had reached and curious as to how well she was holding out against his father, Trunks excused himself absently and walked outside, as if drawn in by some indescribable urge to see the two warriors do battle. The others looked up at him curiously and followed the dazed-looking young man out of the cheerful yellow dome and unwittingly into a war zone.

They were met by an incredible sight.

* * *

I laughed out loud – I couldn't help it, really. I was having too much fun. Yes, my muscles were aching horribly and blood was dripping from the corner of my mouth and various other wounds I had obtained during the fight, but my lips were stretched out in a wide, all-out grin, and I was sure that if Vejita weren't so Dende-damned composed all the time, he would have been doing the same.

I always felt happiest when I was in battle.

My blood roared in my ears, and I lost myself in the moment. Memories of my past – it seemed like a whole other life, it was so unfamiliar – assaulted me and I basked in the wonder of my childhood experiences. I saw my life all over again as if I were watching a movie – waking up early to spar with my grandfather for the first time ever, training with Trunks when I was a bit older and he was still only a babysitter and friend to me and nothing more, and touring the galaxy with the two men in my life who had affected my personality and goals more than any other people I had ever known.

My heart swelled at the mere thought.

I had shoved these wonderful memories away for so long that I was surprised I even remembered them. Yes, I still felt a strange sadness when thinking over on my childhood and how the only two people who ever took me seriously were Trunks and Grandpa Goku, but I never realized how important my past was to me. I would undoubtedly never have grown into the strong, able woman I am now if it weren't for my family and friends, people who would have given their lives just so I wouldn't once feel an ounce of pain. As much as I hated to admit it, I had needed and flourished under their protection. It was only after I had broken out of that protective shell that I had hardened emotionally as a result of seeing the universe through realistic and pessimistic eyes.

I realized how long it had been since I really had been myself.

Three whole years.

My brow furrowed.

It had been far too long.

It was a difficult exile that I had chosen for myself. I had been hurt so deeply by the fact that my love for Trunks would stay forever unrequited that I didn't realize the true magnitude of what I had decided to do. I cut off all contact with Earth for three years – with the exception of Vejita's rare and brief announcements – and I didn't even stop to think about how much my actions would affect the people I loved the most. I had completely and irrationally thrown myself down the only path that I could see at the time – the one that would take me away from my family and friends, simply because I was running away from my problems instead of facing them.

I unwittingly hurt the very people I had been trying to prove myself to.

I was so _selfish_.

Hit with this realization, I lost my concentration, a gigantic mistake. My mouth fell open in shock at this new discovery, and my eyes stopped focusing on my opponent, opting instead to linger pointlessly on the grass hundreds of feet below me. Finally looking up from where I had been gazing into oblivion a split second later, my mind kicked back into gear just in time to see Vejita's blood-stained fist drive towards my face, where it connected squarely with the sensitive spot between my eyes.

I was thrown into a world of pain, and I blacked out.

* * *

Trunks ignored the gasp of shock that went out as he saw Pan lose her concentration and take a direct hit between the eyes, and instinctively knowing that this would knock her unconscious, he hurled himself into the air and caught her before she hit the ground. Cradling her in his arms with more care than was necessary, he hovered gently to the ground, mentally scanning over her battered and bruised body in order to identify which other wounds she had suffered. He was met by a worried Bulma as he landed, and Pan was suddenly pulled from his arms (which for some reason hurt emotionally almost to the point of physical pain), and his mother and sister immediately began shouting orders for a senzu bean.

His instincts screamed that she belonged in his arms. _Why did they taken her from me__?_ he thought wildly. He could sense that she _needed_ him.

Trunks was pushed away from the unconscious figure of Pan and was left standing on the grass dumbly with her blood all over his hands, the crimson liquid staining the front of his shirt and sticking to the skin of his fingers.

It had been a long time since he last smelt the tangy, coppery scent of blood.

But this wasn't just _any_ blood. This was _Pan's_ blood, the blood of the girl who had grown up worshipping him, the blood of the fiery young woman who had listened to his problems and patched up his relationship with Marron. This blood belonged to the woman he lo–

_No,_ he thought to himself. It was the blood of the woman who was his best friend, and nothing else.

Looking down at the red liquid that coated his shirt and the skin on his hands, he suddenly felt like killing someone.

* * *

My eyes snapped open and I sat up suddenly, disoriented for a moment by the huge rush of replenishing energy that washed over my body. Looking around me and seeing myself surrounded by the worried expressions of the Briefs family, I realized that I must have been knocked out by Vejita's last hit.

I drowned myself in self-loathing.

_How embarrassing! Everyone probably saw me fall. __Shit__.  
_  
Automatically pulling a calm-and-collected expression onto my face, I raised an eyebrow in what I hoped to be was a regally questioning way and stood up where I had been laying on the grass. Brushing myself off – and making a mental note to kill (or least _try_ to kill) Vejita later – I crossed my arms across my cracked chest plate and scowled.

"Can I _help_ you?" I demanded in a huff.

"How're you feeling, dear?" Bulma asked kindly.

I winced inwardly. Dende, it seemed as if everyone had seen me lose my concentration! What kind of warrior was I to do that? Feeling awkward and undeserving of the kindness everyone was showing me, I decided to make things more comfortable between us and replied as I would have three years ago.

"Uh, alright, I guess. I've taken worse hits," I said a more timid voice than I was used to. Everyone smiled, and my Trunks opened his mouth no doubt to rebuke me for being so careless when –

"Hmph. Had I not powered down at the last moment, that blow would have taken your head off," came the curt, bored baritone voice of Vejita. I put my hand behind my head sheepishly in response, something I hadn't done in a long time. I loved the familiar feeling of it.

"Yeah, I know, it was my fault I lost concentration." I hesitated, debating whether or not I should ask. Sucking in a deep breath, I took the plunge.

"So, how did I do?"

He looked at me stoically, expression neutral. I waited for his opinion expectantly, unconsciously holding my breath.

Silence.

"You're too slow," he began suddenly and ruthlessly in his typical, uncaring voice. "Your movements are too easy to predict, and you don't attack aggressively enough. You take more hits than you give, you're easily distracted, and you are never focused _completely_ on the battle at hand. In short, you lack discipline, creativity, and detachment – you are far too forgiving with your maneuvers, passing up opportunities to strike the opponent down, choosing to move out instead of in, giving them time to recover. This type of thinking would get you killed in a _real_ battle." He paused for effect.

"You need more training."

Before I could stop it, my face fell.

He turned his back to the stunned group, and began to walk inside when he stopped a few feet away. His next few words caught me off guard.

"Not bad, brat. Your power level is impressive as far as females go, and your style has matured. Your skills are noteworthy."

And then he was gone, leaving me gaping in confusion and surprised elation.

* * *

As Trunks stood in the background, watching his father give Pan as close to a compliment as he would admit, he felt a sudden sense of longing.

It was strange, but why did he have the sudden need to be on the receiving end of one as well?

* * *

**Disclaimer**: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	7. Mixed Blood

**Stargazing**

Chapter 7 – Mixed Blood

Trunks woke up the next day at the crack of dawn, a definite rarity for the lavender-haired demi-Saiyan who was anything but a morning person. Bringing a fist down on his meticulously beeping alarm clock (which was subsequently smashed to bits), he yawned widely and reluctantly left the warmth of his bed, making sure not to disturb his still sleeping fiancé.

Twenty minutes later the young CEO found himself at the entrance to the Gravity Chamber, the small window in the door revealing the soft, red tint of the room beyond. The door opened with a swoosh and the gravity returned to normal as Trunks walked in. Feeling strangely nervous, he bade his father good morning in an attempt to lighten the mood. Unsurprisingly, his only answer was a barely audible grunt.

Brushing off Vejita's callous behavior as normal for the surly prince, Trunks quickly went through the necessary stretching routine, more than slightly perturbed at how unfamiliar and out-of-use his muscles felt beneath his gi. Nevertheless, it felt good to be moving his body again, and he finished his stretches feeling surprisingly warm and languid. Slightly happier at this turn of events, Trunks walked over to the control panel with greater confidence and activated the machine to fifty times earth gravity, bracing himself for the change.

A sudden weight slammed into his shoulders, and Trunks managed to remain on his feet only because he'd been expecting the change. He was shocked at how difficult it was to move around at this gravitational setting. His entire body was in a constant struggle just to remain in an upright position, and every movement felt awkward and ungainly. It wasn't very long before beads of sweat dotted his brow.

Suddenly, Trunks felt a wave of shame. He'd been bouncing around in this very room at a hundred times Earth gravity when he was only seven, and as an adult he was barely able to move in fifty. How on Earth had he let himself slip down this far? He felt like he had let down a part of himself.

Vejita stood in the background with his arms crossed lazily across his chest and scrutinized his son. The boy was having a pathetically hard time staying on his feet at this level, and he obviously needed some form of instruction. Still, the dark prince made no move to go to his son's aid, opting instead to leave the GR entirely. Fifty times earth gravity was no challenge for him whatsoever – he resolved to spend his time elsewhere, where he could get some _real_ training done.

As Vejita left the room, Trunks was able to relax as the extra weight of gravity was lifted from his shoulders. He watched his father stalk out of the GR with mixed feelings, at once thirsty for his approval and intimidated by the example he set. As a child, he had always admired Vejita with an intensity that bordered on worship. His father was, after all, truly and justly named a prince. Everything from his voice to his mere presence commanded respect, and he played the part of the dark Saiyan prince to the tee. Vejita was brilliant in battle and at once cold, calculating, and ruthless, but he also fought with a passion and fire that rivaled that of the greatest warriors. Furthermore, despite the man's small stature, Trunks had never seen the name _not_ positively radiate confidence, control, and fearlessness.

It was this sort of countenance that Trunks had always tried to emulate, mostly to no avail. He had always been insecure when it came to his father. As a boy, he had idolized and loved Vejita as only a son could to his father, but as he grew older, that feeling warped into jealousy. He felt constantly overshadowed by the shorter Saiyan's unfailing adherence to his strict code of honor, and he had quickly realized that _prince_ was a hard name to live up to. It was, after all, a role you had to accept and wholeheartedly commit yourself to not only in name, but in spirit as well.

Trunks had grown up thinking that "prince" was a mere title, but Vejita had completely embodied the position in every sense of the word. He had truly embraced it, and Trunks realized suddenly that _that_ was what his biggest problem was. Forget accepting his title as prince of the Saiyan race, he had even once rejected it in pursuit of a girl!

Trunks decided then and there that it was high time that he got over the predicament of his mixed blood. So he was half alien – so _what_? From now on, he resolved, he would live in both worlds. He was human, yes, but was Saiyan also, and was damn tired of trying so hard to fit into "normal" and "acceptable" Earth society. He was the CEO of a multi-billion zeni international corporation, but that didn't mean he couldn't also be the prince to a lost race. People, he decided, did not have to limit themselves to filling only one role in their lives. '_Finally_,' he thought, 'I can do what I want to do. To _hell_ with what everyone else thinks.'

And that didn't just apply to his relationship with Marron, either.

Shaking his head and deciding that thinking over his predicament could come later, Trunks felt his previous inner turmoil give way to a new, deep sense of peace. It calmed him to know that a decision was made and that his life, from this day on, would be different – in a better way. Impatiently turning up the gravity, he resolutely held back a grunt and waited until his body adjusted to the huge pressure.

And then the hard work began.

* * *

My fighting ability had always been the one thing that I prided myself on the most. It was encouraging for me to know that I was one of the strongest beings on the planet – one of the few people on Earth who could truly back up a threat or defend an innocent, but I was never cocky or arrogant about it. I didn't go around flaunting my strength or rubbing it into other people's faces. In fact, I was downright shy about it. I constantly searched for new techniques and combinations of moves, ways to become stronger, faster, and better than I had been before. It was because I had an insatiable hunger for this knowledge, unconsciously needing it to feel more competent, and thus more able to live up to my family's name.

And do you know why?

Because there was one single, infuriating thing about my life that I couldn't change. One small but ever-present, irritating thorn in my side that overshadowed any of the other accomplishments I ever made in my life...

I was only one-quarter Saiyan.

And, sadly, that was the part of my heritage that I loved most. I reveled in the savagery, the raw emotion, and the wild, uncontrollable nature of my Saiyan blood – so much so that my father and Uncle Goten could neither understand me nor mentor me. That was part of the reason that I gravitated towards Vejita so much. He was the picture of what I could never become, something that I wished desperately to be but could never reach. The reason? Because there was always the invisible barrier that was placed just above my head. That barrier was a fact that had been ingrained into me since birth, one that I could not lightly try to fight against, despite my countless efforts.

It was my inability to transform.

Maybe that was the reason for my childhood babying and my elders' over-protectiveness. In their eyes, no matter how far I pushed my limits or how much stronger I had become, I could never match up to their power – I could never fight at their level, because they had shattered all barriers, defied all logic, and had achieved so easily what was forever unreachable to me...

The golden-haired, teal-eyed god that was a Super-Saiyan.

* * *

_(Flashback)_

At three years old, I was the perfect example of what a "cute little girl" should be – I had the long, dark hair pulled into two thick pigtails, the little smiling doll clutched in my left hand, the lollipop in my right, and a closet full of pink, frilly, flowery monstrosities otherwise known as dresses.

I was what you could call a complete "Daddy's girl". A spoiled, smothered, sniveling _brat_.

In laymen's terms, I was a wuss.

I had woken up that morning at the usual time and planned to spend the rest of the day with my favorite person in the world – my grandpa. However, Grandpa Goku, strangely enough, wasn't in the kitchen in his usual spot, shoveling food down his throat at light speed as he usually was at nine-thirty every morning. Grandma Chichi wasn't there either – she was out shopping. Instead, I found my parents talking casually by the stove. My mother was cooking (yes, she could actually cook edible food after she had lessons – _lots_ of them – from Grandma Chichi) and my father was lounging by the sink. They were, to my surprise, discussing me.

"She doesn't have enough Saiyan blood," I remember overhearing my father say as if he were talking about the weather, not his only child. "I don't think she can ever go Super. I asked Bulma, too, just in case, and she doesn't think so either. Actually, I'm kind of glad she can't," he had laughed sheepishly to my mother. "I didn't exactly want her to grow up a fighter. She shouldn't have to shoulder the burden of having to learn to control her strength. I think it's be better this way."

To say I was confused was an understatement. Don't get me wrong, I knew what a Saiyan was – Goten had given me the heads up about three weeks before – but I didn't know what dad had meant by "Super". But I _did_ know that my parents and grandparents were all extraordinary martial artists. (Grandpa Satan had claimed he was the strongest of all, but I don't think he was telling the truth. He always said it when Grandpa Goku was conveniently not around, and then he was always really sweaty and twitchy whenever we hung out with Auntie Bulma and Vejita-san. Weird? You bet.) Was that what dad had meant? That he didn't want me to be as good of a fighter as he?

As my limited three-year-old intelligence pondered this, I wandered lazily into the woods, anxious to get some fresh air and exercise my legs. It was strange, but even though my dad always encouraged me to stay at home and play with dolls, I couldn't help but love the outdoors. There was something about the open air and the fresh morning dew that was so exhilarating – it was a constant reminder to me that there was more to life than stuffy rooms, toys and dresses.

That, _and_ I never got tired or sweaty, even if I ran all the way to the lake and back. Funny, but Grandpa Satan always started breathing really heavily when we weren't even halfway into the woods. I had always thought that was strange.

Clutching my doll more tightly to my chest as I approached the familiar clearing that housed the lake, I noticed something floating – no, _flying_ – over the clear water of its center. I trudged to the shoreline as quietly as possible, not wanting to be seen, but then smiled brightly when I recognized the figure to be Grandpa Goku's. He was wearing his usual gi uniform – and his clumps of spiky black hair, that was always unmistakable – but there was a look on his face that I had never seen before. It was unusually calm and serene and was also disciplined in a way that hinted at the hidden, almost dangerous edge to his posture. His entire presence was different. It was still warm and welcoming, yes, but there was also a sense of absolute power behind him now, something with real clout and force, something that had never been there before.

I decided to ask him about that later and pushed aside my initial confusion. But then, just as I opened my mouth to shout out his name and ask him to walk home with me, I was silenced when he took a deep breath and let out the single most blood-curling battle cry I have ever heard in my life. It was then that I witnessed for the first time what it meant to be _Super_.

His eyes snapped open, and they were a shocking shade of _teal_.

And I went _blind_ as the entire glade was encased in a sudden, _brilliant_ flash of light.

It was only minutes later that I was able to shake off the dazzling pain to my sensitive eyes, but when I finally managed to crack them open, I looked towards my Grandpa only to see that he wasn't the same grandpa anymore. There was no _way_ that my goofy, happy-go-lucky Grandpa Goku was this serene, golden, _perfect_ entity. There was no way that the blundering mass of blockheaded innocence that played teahouse with me every evening was this unstoppable warrior, this gorgeously _magnificent_ creature that was the epitome of discipline, standing on the water with waves and waves of golden energy pouring off of him like a gigantic, never-ending tsunami. I was in awe of him, I adored him, I wanted to _be_ him…

And that was the emotion that stuck with me from that day on.

* * *

I clamp my eyes shut as the memory of that day brings tears to my eyes. It was only later that I had discovered that Vejita, Trunks, Dad, and _hell_, even clumsy Goten had all been capable of that transformation. It was on that day that I was told by my grandfather that he had been the first in a thousand years to achieve the pinnacle of our race. And it was only afterwards that the full effect of what my father had stated that morning to my mother hit me: that I would never be able to follow him – or _any_ of them – because I didn't have enough blood or power or determination to ascend to that untouchable level of absolute power. According to the facts and the DNA samples and the inarguable logic of Bulma Briefs, I simply lacked the genes to transform.

So I spent the next twenty-two years of my life trying to prove them wrong.

Isn't it funny? That even after all the blood, sweat, and tears that I have shed and toiled through, even after the years and years of harsh, incomprehensibly difficult training that I had endured, even after the countless battles against supervillain after supervillain after supervillain that I won…

They are _still right_.

I am not a Super-Saiyan.

And do you know what bugs me? What really, really, really, _really_ gets on my nerves? What made me grind my teeth in a useless attempt to contain my anger when I first found out?

Bura can.

She is capable. She has the blood, the lineage, the _ability_ to do what I have sought to do for my whole _entire_ life.

And she doesn't.

She won't.

She _refuses_ to.

That woman is someone I will _never_ understand.

So here I am, a fully matured Saiyan female at the age of twenty-two, the only child of the single most powerful being in the universe, surrounded by countless fighters of this unbeatable and untouchable caliber…

And I can't match a single one of them.

I can't ever reach them. Forget fighting the Ascended Super-Saiyans, the Super-Saiyan Threes, the Mystics, the Super-Saiyan Fours, and the Golden Ohsarus. Forget sparring with Buu, with my grandfather's prodigy Uub, or even with the stoic Juuhachigou.

I can't even take the lowest level of them all.

Because I lack the blood. The genes. The strength. The whatever.

_I can't transform._

And there's not a Dende-damned thing I can do about it.

* * *

The instant that Trunks had fallen asleep beside her the previous evening, Marron had gotten out of bed and left the room. She had stalked out of the building in her nightgown and ventured onto the Capsule Corporation grounds barefoot, finally coming to a stop in one of Bulma's private gardens.

Then, for the next six hours, she had sat on a stone bench and thought.

The fight with Trunks that evening had put into sharp effect what she had never seen before. Perhaps, she mused, it was because she had simply refused to see it. Their relationship had, after all, never experienced even the smallest break before. In fact, she couldn't remember if they'd ever argued at all.

Their journey through their teenage years together had been gloriously smooth, peaceful, and untouched.

She realized now how _wrong_ that had been.

She had, she admitted, molded Trunks into what she believed was the perfect man for her: smart and handsome (of course, he was already those things without her help), but also the ultimate businessman, a corporate executive who stood at the peak of human existence and who would be the ideal provider for her and their future family. She had chosen him because he was the closest to her idea of "perfect", because he could take her further than any other man could take her, and because she had taken one look at that chiseled, tanned face with its sparkling blue eyes and had fallen completely in love.

But he had been nothing more than a tool for her to reach her ultimate goal…

A perfect life.

"There is no such thing," she whispered into the night air in an epiphany. "There is no perfect life. There is only a fulfilling life." She smiled and lifted her face towards the light of the moon at this realization. It felt as if she could now begin her relationship with Trunks anew, keeping in mind both of their needs this time around, not only hers.

Tucking a few wispy strands of blond hair behind her ear, Marron made the decision to put an extra effort into understanding Trunks completely. He was her fiancé, the man she would be spending the rest of her life with. There was no way she wanted an incomplete relationship going into a binding contract as strong as the one of matrimony.

She couldn't believe it. She was actually getting married to the man she loved, finally, after three long years of engagement.

And so a decision was made.

* * *

Frustrated by my own weakness, I hurriedly wiped the tears from my eyes and molded my face into the mask of determination that I was known for. There was no _way_, after I had exponentially increased my power level after years of training and after I had come this far from the useless little brat that I used to be, that I was going to quit now. I would transform, and I would show all of the Z-senshi, Saiyan or not, what Son Pan was made of.

I was going to become a Super Saiyan.

Furrowing my eyebrows in resolution, I walked into the control pad of the main hangar of the space capsule. I had decided upon my arrival to live in the capsule from then on, turning it into my permanent residence. (I had absolutely _refused_ to follow in my uncle's footsteps and leech off of my parents at the age of twenty-two.) My new home, with its sparse furnishings and yet extremely comfortable atmosphere, was now fit snugly into a clearing a few miles into the woods of my grandparents' home. This way I could have my independence while still being within convenient visiting distance of my parents' and grandparents' homes.

Pushing that thought aside, I turned up the gravity to four hundred times Earth gravity and withstood the gigantic change of pressure without even flinching. I smirked. After three years of the hardest training I had ever endured, my body obeyed my _every_ order unerringly. I was at my physical best, but I knew I could still do better.

I drew my breath in raggedly, crouched into position, and prepared to attempt, once again, the impossible.

Three hesitant knocks at the door interrupted me.

* * *

To say that Marron was extremely nervous was a definite understatement, but what had to be done had to be done. She had made this decision in the wee hours of the morning that she had spent in Bulma's garden before returning to her fiancé's room, and she resolved not to back out.

It would be hard, tedious, and most likely very, very, _very_ painful.

She strengthened her faltering determination.

_But it would be worth it_, she told herself.

Which was why she was now standing in front of Pan's new residence, her hand just lowered after knocking on the door. She heard a small mechanic beep before the panel slid open and the very battered, bloody, and surprised face of her fiancé's best friend greeted her.

Shoving back her inhibitions on the subject, she took the plunge.

* * *

Of all people, Marron was the last I would have expected to be calling on me so early in the morning. From what I had heard, she was definitely not a morning person and hated getting up early.

So…

Why the _hell_ was she standing at my front door, asking to be let in?

I wordlessly complied, too shocked to offer a coherent answer. I managed to put aside my confusion in time to notice that Marron, usually very composed and calmly confident, was extremely edgy. As the front door slid shut with a sudden whoosh, she jumped nearly a foot into the air.

Interesting?

_Hell_ yeah.

I led her into my living quarters and offered her a chair, and then quickly wiped down my bloody face before joining her, plopping into my favorite armchair. To tell the truth, I was dreading the conversation to come, knowing that it would be awkward between us. After all, I didn't know her very well, and neither did she know me. We were never really friends, but appearances, I guess, needed to be kept.

I smiled warmly in order to ease the incredibly tense atmosphere.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Oh, no thank you, I'm alright."

Silence.

"_So_….." I began.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry if I've called at a bad time –"

"No, no, it's fine. It's not like I was busy with anything. Can I help you with something?"

She paused.

"Actually, yes."

Another pause.

"I've come because I have an enormous favor to ask of you."

_Wow_. Things just keep on getting more and more interesting today…

"You don't need to agree if you don't want to," she said in a rush, "but it would really mean a lot to me and it took a lot of time for me to even come to this decision and of course I don't want to impose on your hospitality or take advantage of you in any way, but…"

"_But_…?"

She bit her lip in the way I had seen her do before when she was terribly nervous.

"Will you train me?" she blurted out.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	8. Letting Go

**Stargazing**

Chapter 8 – Letting Go

It took Pan a moment to gather herself in the face of Marron's bizarre request. The blonde couldn't really blame her – after all, it must have been one of the last things she would have ever expected from her. As it was, a few minutes passed before Pan seemed coherent enough to formulate somewhat of an answer and express it in words.

"You… want me to train you," she repeated slowly.

Marron nodded in confirmation.

"To fight?"

She nodded again.

Pan rubbed at her temples, as if trying desperately to keep an incoming headache at bay.

"Do you know _exactly _what it is that you're asking me to do?"

Marron tore her eyes away from the ground. After asking so embarrassing a favor from so tentative and new a friendship, it was very difficult for her to meet the other young woman's eyes. She expected to see Pan's expression dismissive, questioning – or maybe even openly disdainful – but never had she expected that she would look into her younger counterpart's face, blue eyes clashing on brown, and see a deep, moving empathy – a sense of understanding and kindness that was complete, deeply felt, and unmarred except by the simmering curiosity that shone in the quarter-Saiyan's eyes.

Intrigued, she couldn't bring herself to answer.

"You are asking me," the raven-haired woman began, her voice gentle yet firm, "to teach you the one thing in the world that you hate the most."

Marron nodded.

Pan sat up and shifted her body slightly on the armchair in which she sat. The small change in her position gave her an appearance so different from her previous one that Marron found herself spellbound. There was something about the way Pan was looking at her – it was shocking, attentive and serious, and so _powerful_ – that gave the perceptive blonde the absurd idea that the raven-haired fighter before her was… _testing_ her...

Marron didn't have long to absorb this information, because Pan's next question had her completely floored.

"_Why?_"

It was so simple a question, really – one comprised of only a single word, one that could be answered in any myriad of ways. One that, unfortunately, required (well, in order for her to be truthful, at least) that she bare her soul to a person who was, in actuality, a complete stranger to her. And she had an inkling feeling that Pan would know if she tried to lie about her answer. There was no getting around it; she would have to spill the beans.

Sighing, Marron's only comforting thought was that some sacrifices needed to be made if she wanted to get her love life back on track. Gazing severely at Pan and flinching slightly when she saw her serious stare reflected back at her tenfold, she told her reluctant friend the truth.

* * *

"I've never really seen anything wrong with my relationship with Trunks before yesterday," Marron began. "We'd always been comfortable with each other, and we grew up with one another knowing that our parents were the greatest of friends. It seemed only natural that we would become the same. Like fate, you know? Plus, even before my feelings for him grew, I found that he was a person who I could easily talk to, confide in, and trust. I guess falling for him was just the next step beyond that."

I nodded, knowing where this was going, and motioned for her to continue.

"I think eventually I deluded myself into thinking that both of us were perfectly content with each other, since that's exactly what I was – happy to be with him, without another care in the world. I had no complaints, so I never expected there to be any dissent on his side either... We were perfect in my eyes because we were _supposed _to be."

"But I realized yesterday that he wasn't ever truly happy with me. I overlooked his wishes and needs in order to tend to my own, and the result was that we aren't really as close to each other as I thought we were."

My eyes bore into hers as I waited patiently for what I wanted to hear.

And then, as she finally met my eyes with the determination that I sought, it came.

"He's Saiyan. I lost sight of that and assumed him to be just like me – a human being." She paused and exhaled suddenly in frustration. "He's not," she said severely and with minimal bitterness. "I couldn't have been more wrong in my assumption. There are some things – a lot of things, actually – that I never could and probably never wanted to understand about him."

"Like...?" I prompted, even though I already knew what she would say.

"Like... how he's almost... _animalistic_ sometimes in his urges, and he has instincts and a heightened sixth sense about things that I couldn't possibly hope to understand. Sometimes when he's feeling lazy or content he'll talk to me about flying together in the rain or during a storm. He has all kinds of wild ideas about what courtship should be like, or what _our_ courtship would be like, if I let it, and it makes me feel left out. It makes me feel like I don't understand him – like he's _alien_ and out of my reach – which ironically should make perfect sense, considering his lineage, but somehow it doesn't."

She frowned, made as if to stop speaking, and paused. For a brief moment the two of us sat in silence, her mulling over what to say next, and me mentally filing away what valuable information she had divulged.

When she spoke again, it was in a voice so soft and a tone so surprised that it seemed to me that she was only just discovering something important for herself...

"I can't believe that it took me this long to see it," she murmured.

Her eyes made contact with mine, and she read the question in my face before I even voiced it. "To see the distance between us, I mean. How I could never love all of him – just the part that I wanted to love, wanted to see. I ignored half of his heritage because it seemed like an unsavory idea that the love of my life wasn't all human – as if that made him less of a person, or inferior to others. I wished that he was different, so he changed; my wish came true – in my world, at least. I saw him for what he wasn't. But I know now that that's the last thing I'd want – for him to change for me. He is the man I love, and I want him to be happy. Which is why _I_ am going to change who _I _am, to learn to fight. It's time that _I_, not he, made a sacrifice for the benefit of our relationship. Everything I do, every drop of sweat that I perspire, every new fighting style that I learn, every blow that I take or give..."

She looked at me seriously.

"It's all for him."

She stopped speaking, swallowed dryly, and was silent, mostly out of the shock that she had actually spilled to me her innermost feelings and worries.

I smiled sadly.

I had been right. My former rival in love, the woman I had hated with the most passion during my childhood and adolescence, was coming to me for help because she wanted what I had – understanding of a long dead race, its traditions, its culture, and ultimately of its youngest prince.

Ironic, isn't it? That she would want what I had – this understanding, this knowledge, this culture – when I wanted what she had – the prince?

At that moment, I finally came to terms with the fact that I still had feelings for Trunks. Somehow, even after several years of separation and isolation, I _still_ loved him with every fiber of my being. It hurt me indescribably to think that I was going to help him stay with another woman, that I was willingly doing more to keep him from me. After all, I'd sacrificed the past three years of my life to try and run away from my love for him, to no avail. No amount of time, no distance, and no other man could quench the aching in my heart – the longing for the young Prince of Saiyans to be mine.

I'd had enough of these stupid mind games I kept playing in my head. I couldn't lie to myself any longer. That man, that Saiyan, that prince – my entire life revolved around him; it always had and it always will. My heart would forever be his, and only his. I wouldn't ever love anyone but him. Not Charles, not any man on earth, not any man I met in the rest of the galaxy...

Only Trunks. Trunks, an engaged man – a _taken_ man.

It was about time I came to terms with what I feared most. I had to face it, now or never. The truth was, he was Marron's. He had always been hers, and after they tied the knot, he always would be.

_**I could never have him**_**. **

It was a harsh world – but life was like that. This fact, this idea, this statement was what had driven me from my home three long years ago.

But it was the truth, and I consoled myself with the thought that I _could_ do something for him, even if my love was unrequited.

I could make him happy, by making his marriage perfect.

I understood Marron's feelings, and I admired her determination. Hell, if it had been me – if making myself blond and bubbly and pampered would have made him love me, if smothering my intelligence and fighting spirit under a mask of false innocence and blind naiveté would have made him want me –

I would have done it in a heartbeat.

I would have done the unimaginable for him. I would have left the world behind, destroyed any number of planets, forsaken my Saiyan pride – all for him. I would have turned the world upside-down for him. I would have hurt, died, even _killed_ for him.

Given anything.

_Everything_.

Even my happiness, all for him.

I closed my eyes, and in a firm voice agreed to help Marron.

As her face lit up with gratitude and as I opened my eyes a changed woman – my heart on the backburner but my resolve still in tact – I couldn't help but think...

This was the first time in my life that I was _giving up_.

* * *

_(Flashback)_

"Grandpa?"

Goku turned his face to meet the innocent, yet strangely intuitive brown eyes of his only grandchild. Smiling contentedly, he reached out to her as she neared the shore of the lake where he sat. As she reached him, he ruffled her hair, put his hands on her shoulders, and gave her a quick once-over, grinning idiotically along with her as he noticed her state of dress. She looked distinctively different in the training gi that Videl had secretly made her – Gohan had refused to train Pan, so he had gladly taken up the part of sensei (without his son's knowledge, of course) – but she also seemed more free, and more alive, than ever before. Before he had promised to teach her to fight, there had always been something in her life constricting her spirit – not just her body – whether it was a dress, her father, or Hercule. Now, free of such inhibitions, Pan radiated happiness, yet there was also an unspoken torment in her eyes that immediately drew Goku in. He recognized it immediately as an issue regarding _him_ – her grandfather – and braced himself for the inevitable question, stalling for time by lifting her easily into his lap.

The question never came. Instead, she offered a sullen report on the state of affairs back home.

"I couldn't tell Daddy."

Goku smiled a little sadly, but comforted the girl in his arms anyway. "That's okay, Pan-chan. He'll find out eventually. Besides, I think he'd understand all the same." He looked down at the little girl on whose head he propped his chin, expecting the usual happy, chirruped responses she offered.

The child in his lap only nodded solemnly. It seemed that she was finally ready to tell him what was on her mind.

"I heard... I heard what happened during the Cell Games. Goten told me," she began.

A pause.

"Goten said that Daddy tried to take on Cell but he wasn't strong enough. He said that after Cell picked on everyone else, he got mad and got stronger, so he started winning. But Cell cheated and wanted to blow up the earth so you instant transma-thingy-ed him to the Kai planet and he blew up there instead."

Pan paused to catch her breath, and Goku waited patiently for her to continue, knowing what was coming next.

"So you died with King Kai but Cell survived and got back to Earth to fight Dad. Daddy won, and then everyone else collected the Dragonballs and asked Shenlong to bring you back from Other World. But then Shenlong said that he couldn't bring you back to life because you didn't _want_ to be back..."

Pan clenched her tiny hands into fists in a fit of anger that Goku wasn't stupid enough to pass off as a juvenile tantrum.

"Why didn't you come back?" she blurted out furiously. "Didn't you _want _to be with Grandma? Didn't you miss Daddy? I thought you _loved _them! They're your _family_! Did you even _like_ them?"

Goku exhaled and closed his eyes. He wasn't quite sure he wanted her to learn _that_ particular lesson so early in life. Opening his eyes, he met her enraged glare without even flinching.

"Why did you leave them? Why didn't you come back for seven whole years?"

Silence.

Goku paused and answered her question with carefully chosen words.

"You know I love your grandmother and father very much," he stated truthfully, uncharacteristically serious. "You have no idea how much I wanted to be there to tell Chi-chi that it was over, and we were all okay. I wish I had been there when Goten was born, or when Gohan started blaming himself for my death. You don't know how much I missed my son, my friends, my family, and my life."

He turned Pan around so he was sure she was looking into his eyes. "I chose death because it kept those that I loved _safe_." To the little girl in his arms, there was something in his eyes that was _willing_ her to understand, something that simultaneously knew that she wouldn't. Not today.

Pan opened her mouth to rebuke his statement, but Goku held up a hand and stopped her. "Sometimes... the best thing you can do for someone you love is to simply _let go_."

* * *

'Let go,' I mused, almost laughing at the bitter irony of it all. 'Well, Grandpa, I finally understand what you mean. I'll try to do as you say – I'm letting him go.'

And I closed my eyes, as if finalizing my decision.

'For real this time.'

So the little girl finally understood, years after her benevolent grandfather was gone.

* * *

"Listen to me."

Marron's eyes snapped up and locked with Pan's in a long, intense gaze. Looking into the Saiyan woman's eyes, she had the feeling that whatever test her friend had issued, she had passed. Her hope and confidence renewed, Marron cracked a small smile.

Her hopes were shot out the window.

"I can't help you in the way that you want me to. I can't teach you how to fight."

"_What_?" Marron exclaimed, more shocked than hurt. She had been so sure that she had succeeded! Anger quickly replaced her surprise. She had just bared her soul, spilled her innermost fears to this "friend" of hers, and all she got in return for this rare show of trust was complete and utter rejection? This type of treatment, she thought angrily, definitely justified a reason.

"Why not?" came her indignant reply.

Pan's response was infuriatingly calm and understanding, as if her display of anger was not completely unexpected.

"Because in Saiyan families, females were taught to fight by their mothers. What training still needed to be done _after_ a female left her parents' home was done by her mate. Therefore, it would be inappropriate for me to train you. It's against tradition."

Marron waved her hand dismissively. "That's only a trivial detail. Look at the bigger picture –"

"Lesson number one," said Pan in the same calm tone, apparently not having any inhibitions about interrupting Marron's tirade. She quirked a knowing smile.

"To Saiyans, tradition is _everything_."

* * *

"Mom?"

Juuhachigou looked up from her magazine into a face that was nearly identical to her own. She smiled – a rarity except when she was around her family – yet still managed to keep her appearance stoic, and looked at her daughter expectantly.

Marron looked into the cyborg's eyes solemnly, and said, with utmost seriousness, what she had rehearsed in her mind over and over for the past hour.

"I want to fight."

* * *

Do you know what they always say about how opposites attract? How life is full of surprises, so you should always expect the unexpected? And how sometimes, although you may not know it, your greatest enemy can turn out to be your greatest friend?

Once, a long time ago, when I was young, naïve, and ignorant, I didn't think anything of these clichés. I tossed them aside, let them in one ear only to flow right back out of the other, and dismissed them all as… well, philosophical bullshit.

Like I said, I was ignorant.

Because the truth is that opposites really _do _attract. There are some things in this world that simply belong together, despite being completely different. Take the most basic facts of nature, for example. Only fire can melt ice. Only light can conquer dark. And only the poor can show the rich humanity.

I could come up with a thousand other cases where this is true. All I have to do is look at the people around me.

Vejita and Bulma. Goku and Chichi. Kuririn and Android 18. Gohan and Videl.

Black and white. Cold and warmth. Night and day...

Saiyan and human.

All is as it should be.

Take my parents, for example. If you had known them both as children, had compared their lifestyles, and had seen them in the same class in high school, you would never have believed that they would end up together. There are few people who were so different from one another. It was a wonder, in fact, that they ever got along. Nevertheless, my father, with his light-hearted purity and stubborn sense of righteousness, innocent yet strong, was the perfect match for my mother, whose fiery independence, headstrong impulsiveness, and fierce passion complemented his submissive dominance perfectly. They were, unlikely as it was, the perfect match and loving mates, like peas in a pod.

They agreed and supported each other in every aspect of their lives, except one:

Parenting.

_Me._

So while my father locked me away behind the figurative door of his overbearing protectiveness, my mother looked at my sheltered upbringing with pity and understanding in her eyes. She had been, as a child and a teenager, not so different from me. Grandpa Satan hadn't wanted her to fight either, and had tried to suppress her inborn talent by buying her toys, dolls and dresses, only to find that the more effort he put into sheltering her from her calling, the harder she fought back at him. She threw herself into her training, surpassing him easily, and learned in the process that no matter how good the intentions of others were, it was better in the long run to find things out by yourself.

It was my mother who taught me not to care about what others thought. Not about the way I dressed, talked, acted, or presented myself in public. It was she who taught me to keep my head held high, to take pride in my independence from others, to never rely too much on anyone else but myself. And it was only because of her silent urging, and by her encouragement, that I finally managed to break out of the thick shell my father had molded for me.

With this upbringing, under the careful guidance of so strong a woman, why couldn't I disapprove of what Marron was proposing? Why did I encourage her in her attempt to change who she was for a _man_?

* * *

The next week, as promised, I began sparring with Marron every evening for a few hours. Suffice to say, she did pretty well for a first timer – which was to be expected, looking at who her parents are – but I would be lying if I said I didn't thoroughly enjoy kicking some serious ass. Even so, I was careful not to use any of my signature attacks in front of her. Call me selfish, but my pride simply would not allow anyone, _especially_ her, to copy my fighting style.

Life fell into a routine of sorts as the weeks went by. At dawn I would go and spar with Vejita until lunch, work in the Capsule Corporation labs for a few hours (after three years of traveling the galaxy, technology had became my forte), and then I would return to my capsule house to train until night fell, when Marron would arrive. After a while, I realized that it had become easier not to think about Trunks and my decision to cease loving him (if that were even possible) because I rarely saw him anymore – it was the same thing that had happened when I left Earth three years ago. Distance, as well as time and will power, enabled me to slowly but surely let go of my love for him, as I had decided. At first the devastation of my loss had resulted in my carrying around a terrible ache in my chest day after day, but as time passed and when I threw myself into the cold comfort of daily routine, that ache began to subside. Eventually, I began to slowly accept that he was getting married, and I liked to think that I was also gradually getting over him.

That was probably the reason why I agreed when Charles asked me out again.

I thought that it was about time that I moved on, so as the wedding plans entered their final stages, I began going steady with the vice president of CC – quite a catch, as far as earthlings went. He was an excellent listener, handsome, polite, and extremely clever – I found that I enjoyed his company immensely due to his wit. We went well together, bickering over pointless things and competing in silly games like who could cram the most grapes in their mouth (I won that one) – and it became such that I felt completely comfortable in his presence, and he in mine, after only a short two weeks of being an official couple. There was, however, one thing that had bothered me to no end...

I still hadn't let him kiss me.

I was fine with him holding my hand, holding me close, touching my neck in that fond way of his, or running his hands along my waist or up my back under my shirt – and believe me, I enjoyed that just as much as the next person – but I just couldn't go any further. He'd tried numerous times to kiss me, and I'm sure he was no novice at the art, either – but whenever he leaned in, and the moment was right – or romantic, whatever you want to call it – I would feel irrationally afraid, like there was something terribly wrong or dangerous about the situation, and my breath would seize up. I always ended up turning my head at the last moment, so the kiss would land on my cheek or at the corner of my mouth, but never on my lips.

I couldn't help it – it was instinct.

We talked about it once – like I said, I was completely comfortable with him and told him whatever was on my mind – and he concluded that I was afraid of letting him love me. He chalked it up to my three years of isolation stunting my emotional growth, and told me not to worry; he didn't mind going slowly.

But I couldn't pass off the feeling that there was something more to it than that.

Nevertheless, I appreciated his understanding nature, but the amount of attention he paid me – and the intensity in his eyes when he looked into mine – they were all starting to scare me. It was shocking how fast and how hard he was falling for me, and I was afraid – not because I couldn't handle this affection, but because I wasn't falling for _him_ just as fast, just as hard.

That, _and_, at moments when we were alone and happy, I kept seeing his face darker, his eyes bluer, and his hair lavender.

* * *

**Disclaimer** : The line "I would turn the world upside-down for him" is taken from Jim Henson's _Labyrinth_, spoken by David Bowie's Jareth.

* * *

**Disclaimer**: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	9. First Kiss

**Stargazing**

Chapter 9 – First Kiss

The fine, upper-crust society of trendy West City had tolerated Takeda Ken's mood swings, eccentricity, and paranoia for far more years than many could remember. His gnarled, misshapen appearance and his tendency to dress in little more than foul rags would have, had it been anyone else, warranted immediate and thorough expulsion from the wealthy boulevard on which his small store sat. And yet, despite his shortcomings, this antisocial, decaying man was known by all in Japan to be the sole proprietor of one of the oldest and most exclusive shops in the world.

It really was amazing how much people and society were willing to overlook in the presence of real genius. But then again they had no choice but to do so, for Takeda was a man of truly irreplaceable talents. And young Yasugawa Shinta was proud to be able to call himself the first, last, and only apprentice that this great master would ever take. He therefore took great care in following all of his orders promptly, going about his work with a single-mindedness that belied his commitment to his apprenticeship and his own talent as well.

Striding purposefully into his mentor's study, Shinta cleared his throat as a way of announcing his presence.

"Takeda-sensei."

"What is it?" the old man snapped, not bothering to look up from his work. "I asked not to be disturbed."

"Vejita-oujisama is here to see you, sir. It's urgent."

The wizened old man's beady eyes narrowed at the news.

"Oh?" he said with interest. "What is it that brings our esteemed prince all the way down here in person? Could it be he has something more to ask of me? How curious," he muttered under his breath, "very curious..."

Shinta looked at his mentor expectantly, then cleared his throat again.

"Sir..."

Takeda snapped out of his mental reverie. "Yes, yes, of course, Shinta," he said with renewed vigor. "Let us not keep our Vejita-oujisama waiting. You know how impatient he gets."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Of all the times that Takeda Ken had met Prince Vejita in person, he had never ceased to wonder what it was that irrevocably drew him to the man's presence. Perhaps the secret lay in the fact that the surly prince had a surprisingly magnetic bearing for someone of such small stature – he had a real gravity about the way he carried himself that demanded complete obedience and respect even from the most socially immune of men. There was always a certain effortlessness about the way he spoke, or the way he stood – and even in the way that he was so blatantly arrogant – that made Takeda feel incompetent, as if he were but a small child begging for an adult's praise and acceptance. And yet despite the much more than adequate results of the old man's work, the prince remained as aloof and implacable as ever, as if he were timelessly trapped in a state of battle – calculating, ruthless, and cold. He was, as far as Takeda could tell, a very dangerous man, difficult to please and extremely sharp – both physically and intuitively – and not afraid to respond in kind when provoked. The old man was not stupid. To displease a warrior of Vejita's caliber, he knew, would have been paramount to suicide.

It was with this lasting thought that Takeda met Vejita again for the third time in his career, brown eyes clashing on inky black as the surly prince stood in his classic stance in the middle of the secluded shop – arms crossed and back straight and proud, not so much as batting an eyelash as master and apprentice appeared. Again, as if time had been rewound back to the moment he had met the prince for the first time, Takeda found it ridiculously difficult to speak coherently in the man's intimidating presence and stumbled, embarrassed, on his words.

"Veji... Vejita-oujisama," he forced out in a croaky voice.

The only reaction was a brief flash of recognition in the bottomless pools of onyx that were this ruthless man's eyes.

"Takeda. I have a request."

The underlying tone of his deep, commanding voice made Takeda realize that the statement was not so much a request as an order.

"Ye... yes, sir?"

"You are to commission for me another piece."

"Of course, sir. Do you... do you have any specifications, sir?"

"Several. As for the first, you are to use... _this_."

He held out his hand, and resting lightly in the middle of his gloved palm was a stone of whose like Takeda had never seen before. It was flat, shaped circularly in the same manner of a medallion, with a strange coloring that glowed so brilliantly that it seemed the stone was lit up from within. So strange and so bright was this beautiful artifact that even in the poor lighting of the dusty room, master jeweler Takeda Ken could see its intricate design.

It was a ten-point star colored a brilliant gold that shone as luminescent as the sun, set on a background of turquoise so deep and so mysteriously rich that it seemed to contain enough secrets to fill an entire ocean...

Takeda's mind buzzed with excitement and then shock. He _knew_ these colors, as rare and unique as they were, in these _very same shades_.

_He had seen them before._

The only question was – where?

Suddenly, his eyes widened in recognition.

He had last seen them over thirty years ago, on a young boy who couldn't have been older than fourteen. Even with the bad static of the television set, Ken had been able to tell that this boy – young man, really – who stood so proudly and imposingly in the center a veritable wasteland...

He'd had real power.

He'd had cold, turquoise eyes, and despite their hard, frosty glare, the coloring was somehow soft at the same time – it was warm, encouraging, friendly – and _alive_.

And his hair – such strange locks of _pure gold_ – it was a crime to call them blond given the way that they positively glowed with light. This boy was a creature like no other that Ken had ever seen, and he knew – with some long buried instinct – that this young warrior would protect what was his, at all costs – or he would die trying.

He had seemed so bold and unflinching despite his young age, standing like a firm stone unyielding in the center of a terrible tempest. And he hadn't moved at all, not even as he stared down the frightening creature who had threatened their planet and frozen Takeda's blood cold...

The monster known as Cell.

* * *

Pan stretched luxuriously in her bed, grunting in pleasure as several of her joints popped. Yawning slightly, the demi-saiyan turned onto her side and smiled contently as she felt two strong arms circle around her waist, pulling her close. She instinctively snuggled closer to the warm body behind her, and her smile grew wider – she loved spending mornings like this: in bed, with him. It never failed to make her feel as if she truly belonged here, and it gave her the wonderful sensation of being loved, content, and safe.

"Morning, beautiful."

"Morning, blondie."

She felt his deep voice reverberate in his chest as he chuckled quietly.

"I thought I told you not to call me that anymore. It ruins my image."

She smirked. "Oh, really? And what image would that be?"

"That I'm a devastatingly attractive and extremely cool guy – not a prancing, hair-flipping female strumpet on heels," he replied deadpan.

Pan bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"I don't know, you've got pretty girly arms, you know..."

His arms tightened around her waist as he growled, and she soon found herself pinned on her back by the weight of his body. His eyes danced mischievously as he smirked at her – to which she responded by lifting an eyebrow, unimpressed – and he moved his sculpted arms to hold hers down gently but firmly. With him on top of her, their faces only inches apart, it was, in general, a rather suggestive position despite the fact that both parties involved were fully clothed.

"Take it back," he demanded playfully.

"Fine, fine, I take it back, sunshine. You'd make an ugly woman, anyway," she added with mock sincerity.

"I'll take that as a compliment, then," he said in a slightly strangled voice, choking on his laughter.

His eyes lit up with mirth.

"So... let's see what these girly arms of mine can whip up for breakfast, eh?"

* * *

Pan stabbed her fork through three whole pancakes and somehow – Charles wasn't sure how she managed it – crammed the entire stack into her mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, she swallowed and allowed herself another generous bite. Charles tried desperately not to stare. Even after all this time, it was hard to get used to her rather... _strange_... eating habits.

His wandering mind was brought back to Earth as Pan waved her fork in his direction, eyes flashing playfully.

"Your pancakes suck, man. Mine are so much better," she commented lightly.

Charles' eyebrow twitched.

"It's nice to know my hard work is appreciated," he responded mildly.

"I mean, come on. _Everyone_ knows that you have to whip the batter an extra minute or so in order to make them nice and fluffy. Who taught you to cook, anyway?" she asked carelessly, licking the extra syrup off her fingers.

He tried valiantly to ignore her provoking. She was doing this on purpose, he knew. They always played around like this, baiting each other. He wasn't going to let her win, not this time.

"Hey, are you even listening to me?"

Charles pretended he hadn't heard her and feigned that he was absorbed in the morning paper. He took a nice, leisurely sip from his mug of hot chocolate just to show her how _not_ irritated he was. True enough to his expectations, this didn't please the fiery woman sitting across the table from him.

"_Charles_!" she demanded, allowing a certain amount of irritation to seep into her voice. "Are you ignoring me?"

Again she was answered with silence. Charles didn't so much as blink. He continued reading his newspaper, seemingly content not to speak.

"Oi! Are you even alive?"

Charles merely rustled the pages of the paper and pulled it up to cover the smirk that was slowly forming on his lips. Unfortunately, he didn't do so fast enough. Pan snorted mentally and decided that if Charles was having this much fun pushing her buttons, it was time to bring out the big guns.

She stood up from the breakfast table in mock defeat.

"_Well_," she began slowly, "_clearly_ I can see that my company is not wanted here. I think I'll just go home. Do you think your doorman will be willing to call up a cab for me?"

"Given the fact that he's hopelessly infatuated with you, I'd say yes."

Pan smiled sweetly. "Great. Well, I'll just go get my stuff, then. Don't bother getting up to see me off, I'll see you when you get back next week. Have fun on your trip to the States!"

With that, she sauntered out of the kitchen towards the bedroom to gather her things. Charles tried not to let that bother him.

'I give it three seconds,' Pan thought mischievously as she sat neatly on his unmade bed, arms crossed. It was hard not to laugh evilly, but she managed it.

_One..._

She heard Charles cough lightly in the next room.

_Two..._

The paper rustled slightly. Cocking her head to the side, Pan focused her hearing and could make up the tapping of Charles' foot as he fidgeted.

_Three!_

The sound of a chair being pushed back, a few hurried steps, and there he was, looking rather chagrined, in the doorway of his room.

She smiled brightly.

"Oh, hello! And who might you be?"

He walked over to the bed and sat next to her, wedging his arm around her waist in a placating manner. After pondering briefly on how to best return into her good graces without giving in, Charles decided that it was impossible. He'd have to lose. Again.

"You said you would take me to the airport," he grumbled sullenly, resting his head on her shoulder.

She laughed.

"I was only joking, you big oaf. Of course I'm taking you to the airport. Who else is going to make sure you don't get lost or attacked or something equally terrifying? Somebody has to protect you – you big softy, you."

He grinned boyishly.

"I knew I could count on you."

Pan grinned back. He responded by giving her puppy dog eyes, and she knew he was going to say something exceedingly mushy.

"Will you miss me?"

She lifted an eyebrow and looked at him sardonically. The puppy-dog eyes persisted, though, and in the end she gave him a reluctant affirmative answer.

He wasn't satisfied, though. He could sense that somehow, for some reason, she was holding back.

"Really?" he asked again, not joking anymore. He looked her in the eye, smile gone.

Pan could tell he was serious now. He always got serious when he started to feel insecure about the way she felt about him. And he had good reason to be, too, because she always held back. She wasn't stupid or naïve. She knew it made him feel uncomfortable, which in turn made her feel guilty. But it couldn't be helped – she was getting over something big, and she needed time. She didn't want her old flame for Trunks to ruin her relationship with Charles, who she genuinely liked.

The question was, after all this time, after three years of space travel and isolation, after _over a month_ of being officially together with Charles, had it been long enough for her feelings for Trunks to die out?

'Well,' Pan finally decided. 'I think it's about time we find out.'

And, after hesitating only a fraction of a second, she leaned over slowly and took Charles' lips gently with her own.

It was exactly how she thought her first kiss would be – light, short, and pure. The kiss itself was unremarkable, but the rest of it – how her heart wouldn't stop thumping in her chest, how he reached over and stroked her cheek lovingly, how he sucked in his breath in surprise and elation as she initiated it – it was _wonderful_. It made her feel so peaceful, warm, and full of love.

When they pulled apart, Charles saw Pan blush for the first time. With her hair mussed, her lips rosy, and her cheeks flaming red, the young woman before him looked extremely flustered.

And yet, even though he knew she wasn't looking her best, and even though she had momentarily set aside the fiery temper he loved so dearly, he couldn't help but think that she was the most unique and stunningly beautiful woman he had ever seen. He broke out of his reverie, however, when Pan broke the silence and spoke.

"So... does that answer your question?" she asked softly.

Their eyes met, and they both smiled genuinely. Charles pulled her into his arms, rested his chin on top of her head, and closed his eyes, breathing in the heavenly scent of her hair.

"Yeah, I guess it does."

* * *

It seemed that as soon as Charles left on his business trip, things at home took a turn for the worse. No sooner had I seen him off at the airport did every news report in the vicinity of West City begin forecasting a terrible thunderstorm headed our way. It was almost as the weather was reflecting my mood – now that Charles would be gone for a week, I was left feeling strangely antsy... _turbulent_, in a way. I felt as if I had a gigantic reservoir of pent up energy in me – and I was, I admit, a completely insufferable asshole for the rest of the day.

Well, I _was_... at least until I went to burn off some of that energy by sparring with Vejita, and subsequently got my ass pounded into the ground for being so unbearable.

That night, the storm came. It was something straight out of a horror movie – howling winds, pelting drops of rain, lightning and thunder clashing in the sky, and rolling gray clouds on the horizon. I lay in my capsule house for hours, tossing and turning in bed, not able to sleep, and finally I gave up. There was something strange going on. The atmosphere was charged, electric – _magnetic_. My instincts were going haywire – every part of my body was telling me to get the hell out of bed and go outside.

After trying to prevent the inevitable for another hour or so, the feeling inside me grew. It multiplied exponentially– growing so quickly that it became impossible for me to ignore it further, so I rolled out of bed, dressed in a comfortable gi and tank top, and ran out into the rain barefoot.

_Dende_ it was cold! The wind positively screeched as it blasted past my ears and blew my hair wildly around my face, and as the rain soaked me to the bone. With the alternating sights of lightning and sounds of thunder, and with the pouring rain running down my face and into my eyes, I could hardly see. Blinded and deafened and frozen by the terrible storm, I gave into my instincts, flared my ki, and blasted into the sky.

The feeling of flying in the gray storm clouds was incredible. Searing bolts of lightning grazed past me, the roar of the thunder swallowed the pattering sound of the rain with no effort at all, and despite the fact that I was freezing and had no idea where I was going, I had no care in the world as I soared towards my unknown destination, my eyes closed as I gave into instinct. Then, finally, almost an hour into my impromptu excursion in the storm, I knew I had made it.

I looked up, and there, a dark silhouette in the pattering rain, was Trunks. Somehow, for some reason, I wasn't surprised to see him here. It seemed to be the same for him also, because as I floated up to hang in the air directly next to him, his expression didn't change. We only looked at each other in mutual understanding and raised our heads to look up at the clouds, waiting patiently for something I didn't understand.

It seemed an eternity that we stayed there, suspended in the air hundreds of feet above the ground, both of us soaked, cold, and driven by a force neither of us understood. And yet nobody moved. We simply continued looking at the clouds, not bothering to dodge as bolts of lightning nearly struck us, not pausing to blink even as the rain poured down our faces and into our eyes – staring, not thinking, waiting, just waiting for _something_ as the feeling in both of us grew stronger, more fierce.

I remember thinking that I wouldn't be able to take much more of this. This unknown drive, this strange ballooning in my chest, it was rising in a crescendo that was almost painful to bear. My heart was pounding in my ribcage, drumming wildly in excitement, and I had ceased hearing the thunder as I could only make out a throbbing humming in my ears. As a sense of urgency overtook me, and as I began grinding my teeth together in an effort to contain this unbelievable feeling – knowing, not seeing, that Trunks was doing the same beside me – it happened.

The clouds parted, and in that small patch of clear sky, the two of us were bathed in the pale light of the perfect full moon.

I don't know who threw the first punch. Both of us started the fight simultaneously, probably. But all I knew was that suddenly, everything that I had felt up to that point – all of the agitation, the pent up energy, the insane, indescribable feeling that had been driving me crazy all day – it was all coming out now. The two of us danced a veritable dance of death, trading blows that could have shattered concrete, meeting each other punch for punch, kick for kick. Neither was doing any damage to the other, but then that wasn't the point – we weren't fighting to win, we weren't thinking strategy – we didn't even think of this as a fight, really.

It was just...

_Us._

Two Saiyans, on a planet full of humans, driven by the same instinct on the same night to the same spot in the sky.

Fighting, in the light of the full moon, for the chance to prove that we were _so much more_ than what the rest of the planet saw us as.

We were warriors and aliens.

We were Saiyan.

And then, as are fight approached its climax, and as I pushed my power level beyond anything I had ever reached before, I began to push Trunks back. None of my hits landed, but I had him on the defensive now, and my heart filled with a ferocity that I had never known before. I struck his blocking arms hard, blow after blow sending off huge waves of energy as I connected, and as I raised my fist one last time, heart near bursting with excitement and eyes triumphant, he turned the tide.

There was a brief flash of light, and he went Super...

And I was powerless.

We stopped fighting, then. Hanging in the sky a mere foot apart, our ki's – his gold and mine blue – melted together as one, and the two of us stood and simply stared at each other, content to bathe in the light of the moon. The feeling was returning again – in both of us, I could tell – that same feeling of anxiousness, of urgency – that instinct was once again building. His teal eyes locked onto my black – and suddenly, mutually, we came to an understanding.

Neither of us would wait for it to climax again.

Neither of us gave it a second thought as we moved, as one, towards each other, and crushed our lips together.

_This_ kiss – it was everything it shouldn't have been: scorching, wet, hungry, and raw. There was no thinking involved – it was driven purely by instinct, desperation, and a deep and very basic _need_ that neither of us had ever experienced before. I truly and justly lost myself in Trunks, giving in to the moment and just focusing on the feeling of his chiseled lips on mine and the firmness of his muscled body pressed up against me. Neither of us were gentle. Our need was so great that our teeth drew blood and our arms and fingers clutched at each other with enough strength to bruise. I reacted to Trunks in ways that I didn't know I knew, wrapping my legs around his waist, tangling my hands in the silky mass that was his hair, nipping at his skin with my teeth and meeting his tongue with my own. I melted in his arms, became warm despite the fact that I was soaked from the cold rain, and let the taste and smell of him fog my brain up like a drug.

It was _glorious_.

We shared this one short moment of bliss, of _heaven_, and then the two of us broke apart, panting, and consciousness – and thought – returned at once.

The moonlight was no more. The clouds, once more obscuring the source of our recklessness, returned us to Earth.

We stared at each other in shock for one moment, and then at the same time blasted away in opposite directions, flying away from this memorable spot as if our lives depended on it.

The flight home was a blur. I don't remember anything except for the lingering taste of Trunks on my lips. When I finally got back to my space capsule, I stumbled into the main hangar and fell to my knees. The door shut closed with a whoosh, but I paid it no mind as I knelt there, sopping wet and immeasurably cold, on the floor.

I squeezed my eyes shut and ran my fingers through my hair, holding my head in my hands, trying to stop time, stop everything, stop the spinning and just _think_. But I couldn't. Even in the dark, all my mind could see was the searing teal of his eyes.

I could still feel his hands on my body, taste his lips on mine, hear our panting – as if the memory of _everything_ that was Trunks was branded into my mind.

_This_...

Dende... what the hell just happened?

_I don't think I can forget this._

* * *

**Author's Note:** I just want to briefly comment on the medallion that was finally described in this chapter. If there are any die-hard DBZ fans out there, they'll recognize it as the same stone that Vejita-ou wore when he confronted Frieza. (If you look carefully at that episode, the stone I'm talking about is used to pin up his cape. It falls off and clatters to the ground when he's killed.)

* * *

**Disclaimer**: Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	10. Stargazing

**Stargazing**

Chapter 10 – Stargazing

After he and Pan broke apart, Trunks dropped all pretenses of calm, flew hell-for-leather back to his wing of Capsule Corporation, snapped at security that he wanted to be left alone and, in a last ditch, desperate attempt to wash away all of the memories of what had happened that night, threw himself into the shower, not bothering to undress. His shaking hands barely managed to turn the hot water nozzle, but when he finally managed it after a bit of fumbling and the searing hot water hit his face, he hissed quietly in half pain, half pleasure, content for now to simply let the hot water thaw out the numbness of his skin.

He closed his eyes and bowed his head, trying desperately not to think. Anything but _that_ – _anything_ to put off facing reality and coming to terms with what had happened less than fifteen minutes ago.

He had kissed Pan. Hell, the whole thing had been intense enough to qualify as damn make-out session. And what was worse, his treacherous body had enjoyed it – far more than he had ever enjoyed being with his fiancé.

Thinking back, Trunks shuddered and tried not to remember how good everything had felt – how right, how absolutely _perfect_ the feeling of Pan in his arms had been. He still remembered how smooth her skin had been – how her hair had felt like black silk in his hands, how her lips tasted like a heavenly blend of mint and vanilla.

'_Bad_ train of thoughts, Trunks, old buddy,' he thought to himself, jerking himself out of his reverie. '_Really _bad.'

In his defense, though, he thought abruptly in an attempt to lesson the guilt, it's wasn't as if he or Pan had planned for something like this to happen. He couldn't explain _how_ it happened. It just... did.

His whole day up to that point had been a complete and utter disaster. There had been this massive thorn in his side all day, this buzzing in his head, something that wouldn't let him have any peace at all, driving him completely crazy. For a brief moment at work, he had even toyed with the idea that he was going insane. He had snapped at his secretary, barked orders to the lab scientists like a madman – even going as far to terrify one poor woman into hysterics – and had eventually been dragged out of the compound by his furious mother and told to go home and to not come back until he was fit to act even remotely human.

The next place he instinctively thought of to go to was the GR, thinking that burning off some of that excessive energy with his father was exactly what he needed. In retrospect, it hadn't been that great of an idea, since he hadn't stopped to consider the fact that his father was the one person on the planet that not only would not stand for any of his son's bullshit, but also would gladly – and easily – agree to pounding said son's ass into the ground.

* * *

_(Flashback)_

Vejita took one look at his son's face as he stormed in the GR and stated flatly for him to get out. He was in no mood for any more of this mood-swing shit today, and just by looking at that thundercloud of an expression on his son's face, he knew the boy was in no condition to fight.

"Don't tell me what to do, _old man_," Trunks had retorted sharply before he could restrain himself.

Rolling his eyes, Vejita phased out. A sudden burst of power, a paralyzing pain in his stomach, and Trunks blacked out before he could even blink.

Vejita coolly removed his fist from his son's stomach as the boy lost consciousness. Temper sated for the time being, he looked at Trunks' unconscious form and snorted.

"You should know better than to try and make me go through the same shit twice in one day, brat."

Che. First Kakarott's idiot granddaughter, and now his own son. Damn the lunar cycle.

* * *

Trunks groaned in pain and woke up what seemed to be a couple of hours later, his stomach muscles throbbing in pain.

"Aw, _fuck_," he moaned under his breath, hand moving slowly over to clutch at the damaged area. Quickly taking a mental scan of his body to make sure he had no other injuries, he mumbled a string of curses under his breath. Damn Dende. Damn his father for being so fucking fast. And damn his temper for getting him here in the first place.

"Quit your whining," came the darkly amused reply.

Trunks grimaced as he realized that he was being watched. Sitting up and looking around, he caught sight of Vejita standing casually on the other side of the room, leaning comfortably against the wall of the GR and lazily scrutinizing something in his hand.

At the sight of him, Trunks' temper was back, this time with reinforcements.

"You just –" he gesticulated towards his gut indignantly. "I can't believe you just... You are a complete and utter _asshole_!" Opening his mouth to continue, he was cut off by his father's curt reply.

"You want to go another round?"

For once, self-preservation trumped everything else. Trunks grit his teeth and shut his mouth, thinking that his stomachache really didn't need any company – say, a headache, for example. He hadn't taken a _complete_ leave of his senses.

"No, sir," he replied promptly, only minimally grudgingly.

Vejita snorted. "I thought not." A pause. "Here, take this."

Anger dissipating, Trunks looked up in time to see his father toss him whatever it was in his hand. Catching it on reflex, he turned the object over and discovered that it was...

A necklace?

Not just any necklace, he corrected himself. It was by far the most extraordinary piece of jewelry he had ever seen, and with him being the richest man on the planet, that was seriously saying something. It was made up of a gorgeous turquoise and gold stone set in platinum, but the strangest part was that the centerpiece – that stone – glowed on its own.

He immediately recognized those colors.

"This looks exactly like the color of our eyes and hair when we go Super," he commented briefly.

Vejita nodded, eyes trained on the floor. "Do you know what that stone is?"

Trunks shook his head, waiting for the reply. Times that his father was this talkative were few and far between, and he wasn't about to go and blow the first real conversation he'd had with the man in a long time.

"The stone is called the _Kalashnar_, meaning 'eye of the gods' in our language. It was a gift from the ancient Cheizan race to the first scion of the House of Vejita as a peace-offering, directly after the Tufuru-jin were expelled from Vejita-sei."

Trunks was stunned. "You're telling me that this thing is that old?"

"Yes. It is the greatest treasure of our race. The Cheizans were unrivalled as jewelers in the universe, and were the first and last people to ever create a stone that was completely indestructible. The fact that they were exterminated by Frieza shortly afterwards makes this stone the only one of its kind. Needless to say, it is extremely valuable."

Letting the information sink in, Trunks swallowed. "So it's completely indestructible, huh?" he wondered aloud. Inspecting the medallion carefully, he found that what his father said was true. The entire surface was completely unmarred, shining, and flawless.

"So what happened to it when Vejita-sei was destroyed?" he asked quietly.

Vejita's eyes smoldered with anger, pain, and some other unidentifiable emotion as he spoke.

"My father was wearing it at the time of his death. It was lost for a long time, most likely pawned off by one of Frieza's foolish men who did not realize its worth at the time. I tried to recover it while I was in service, but Frieza kept me on an extremely short leash, and I was forced to abandon my search." Only after a visible effort did Vejita calm down, eyes once again growing impassive. Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Recently, however, with a bit of help from Kakarott's granddaughter, I was able to trace it to the Conan-jin."

"Pan helped?" Trunks thought out loud. When Vejita nodded in confirmation, he continued. "Who are the Conan-jin?"

Vejita smirked. "I think you mean, who _were_ the Conan-jin. They were a group of mercenaries living on the outskirts of one of Frieza 13's five moons. Under my instruction, the brat went to Conan-sei and demanded that they return the stone to her, but when they refused, she very pointedly took it back by force. From what I hear, they tried to stop her by destroying her spacecraft, but she managed to get away unharmed. The Conan-jin, I believe, did not survive the blast."

Trunks frowned, upset at his father. "You asked her to do that? I can't believe you would put her in danger just in order to retain possession of a mere trinket, without even thinking about her safety!"

Vejita rolled his eyes. "Spare me the lecture, boy. First of all, you underestimate the woman's strength. She can take care of herself, with or without your incessant over-protectiveness. Secondly, you fail to comprehend exactly how valuable and important the stone is. Keep in mind it is the last remaining remnant of our race."

Momentarily chagrined, Trunks looked back at the priceless piece of jewelry in his hand with new respect. Satisfied, Vejita grunted.

"Take good care of it."

Trunks started. "Wait, _what?_ You're giving it to me?"

"Obviously," came the derisive retort. "It is tradition for the stone to be given to heir of the House of Vejita when he comes of age. Eventually, you will pass it on to the one who will guard the medallion until the next heir comes of age."

Trunks blinked. "Who's that?"

Vejita looked at him pointedly. "Your mate. The mother of your future children."

He paused for effect, and Trunks was completely silent.

"Remember, Trunks," Vejita stated quietly. "We are all that remains of our people. You, I, and Kakarott's bloodline are all that is left. The House of Vejita has fallen, Vejita-sei has been destroyed, and our race is at the brink of extinction. This stone _alone_ is what carries the memory of the Saiya-jin. It is the embodiment of our entire history, our culture, and the spirit of all of those who once called themselves Saiyan warriors."

He looked at his son gravely, eyes willing him to understand.

"_This is our legacy_, Trunks. Make sure the woman you choose is worthy of it."

And with that, he turned around and left the GR, leaving Trunks sitting on the floor, hands clutching tightly to a priceless treasure, mind and heart wallowing in confusion and doubt.

* * *

Mind returning to the present, Trunks' hand instinctively reached into his shirt to pull the necklace out and admire it. Eyes focused on the eerily glowing center of the pendant, his thoughts returned to Pan.

"Someone worthy, huh?" he thought aloud, clutching the necklace in his fist and stepping out of the shower. He had a lot of thinking to do.

But first, he had to get dry.

* * *

Ever since I was a little girl, my favorite pastime – well, besides fighting, of course – had always been stargazing.

I remember that I would spend hours on top of the small dome of my parents' house – _every_ night, without exception – and I would stare for hours and hours at the billions of sparkling dots in the sky, admiring most of all the unrivalled brilliance of the North Star. Lying there, surrounded by the glittering cosmos, I remember wishing fervently that I could somehow grasp that elusive North Star in my tiny, insignificant hands, somehow preserving its warm, light presence for when night had already yielded to day.

One time, when Grandpa Goku asked me why I loved stargazing so much, I answered that it was because looking up at the sky made me feel insignificant and alone in the universe. Looking at the North Star, knowing that it was there – so bright, perfect, but out-of-reach – I would feel alone.

Grandpa Goku had frowned slightly and told me that that was a very sad reason to like something so much.

I had just smiled, and said that even though the North Star was out of my reach, just knowing that the other stars were there would make me feel better. And despite that almost overwhelming feeling of being alone, I couldn't help but love that gorgeous, brilliantly-shining North Star.

* * *

I eventually mustered up enough strength to drag myself up from the floor of my space capsule and into the shower, where after attempting to drown myself and failing, I became content to just stand and let the searing water burn away at my skin. Somehow, the intense pain did not help to keep my mind off of things as I intended – instead, my mind was as clear and lucid as ever. Mulling over everything that had happened recently – all the shit that had finally hit the fan, so to speak – I came to several realizations:

Even today, years after I have long left childhood behind, I am still stargazing. And I think that for the rest of my life, as long as I am incomplete, I will always be stargazing, searching for something to fill that hole in my heart that can never be filled, except by one thing.

Trunks...

My North Star.

* * *

The next morning, I dragged myself out of bed with the intention of doing something about the fucked-up state of my life. Ever since I had first realized I was in love with Trunks, I had unceasingly lived a life full of lies. I was _tired_ of dealing with this shit – tired of leading a double life, tired of hiding my true feelings, tired of hiding who I was and why I was that way.

I was tired of running. The time had come for me to stand my ground, square off with my feelings, and come clean with the rest of the world.

The only thing was... how the hell was I going to explain all of this to Charles?

* * *

_(One week later)_

'Who knew that so much shit could happen on such a beautiful day?' Charles mused, silently fuming as he briskly strode off the bustling streets of West City and back into the cool marble lobby of Capsule Corporation. 'It's like Kami is _trying_ to make my life as difficult as humanly possible. You'd think that the wilting old fart of a god would have better things to do,' he snarled mentally. He paused this mental tirade just long enough to send a withering glare at his secretary (a young woman who had the annoying habit of sending him flirtatious glances that actually ended up looking more like ugly leers) and the unspoken warning successfully stopped her in her tracks. The furious Brit then snorted mentally. "Feh, as if I _need_ to have any salt _poured_ on an already throbbing wound. What the bloody _hell_ is wrong with that bloke anyway?' he snarled. 'I spend almost five years as the vice president of a global corporation – managing finances, marketing, _and_ production alongside the president and founder of the company as their _equals_, I might add – and all he deems me worthy of is prancing his worthless, brainless daughter around New York City like some bloody male escort? _Despite_ the fact that I've repetitively told him that I already have a girlfriend? Or maybe even _because_ of it? Potential customer or not, the next time that _bastard_ of a geezer tries something like this, I'll punch his bloody lights out, even in front of Trunks, Bulma, or Kami himself," he growled under his breath vehemently.

'Kami, am I _glad_ to be out of that stinking cesspool of a country and away from _him_,' he positively spat.

Glancing out a window in the hall on the way to his office, Charles' mood worsened. The birds were chirping, the sun was shining, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky. Carefree children and laughing couples strolled happily through a neighboring park, looking as if they hadn't a care in the world– which only served to infuriate Charles more. There was something infinitely frustrating about being the only pissed off person in a hundred-mile radius, he thought angrily. Happiness should have been outlawed on days like this. Gritting his teeth against a sudden desire to let out an explosive stream of expletives, he continued his march to the elevator – shoulders stiff and fingers twitching like a madman – and jammed his thumb onto the correct button with far more force than was necessary.

He wondered briefly if perfectly justifiable murder was punishable by law.

By the time the elevator reached the top floor, he'd shed his jacket and loosened his tie in a desperate attempt to calm his nerves – an attempt that had failed miserably – and, feeling no better than before, he slammed open the door to his office with unnecessary force. Striding into the room purposefully, with absolute fury written in every line of his face, Charles decided that propriety could go to hell. He let out a colorful and inventive stream of swear words which included most of the curse words known to man, and some that weren't.

A feminine voice chuckled quietly from behind his desk, and his head snapped up. What brainless idiot of a woman was it this time, and who had the audacity to not only waltz into his office uninvited, but also to sit in _his_ chair, lounging in it carelessly as if it were her own? Laughing quietly and not realizing that his bad mood had instantly dissipated at the sound of her voice, he knew the answer to that question before it was even finished. After all, there was only one woman that he knew who could be _that_ arrogant.

"How'd you get into my office, Pan? Didn't security ban you from the building after you set my couch on fire two weeks ago?"

The young woman's face contorted indignantly.

"That wasn't _me_, you asshole! The only reason they said _I_ couldn't come back was because even though it was _your_ fault, they couldn't exactly throw out the vice president of the company, so they had to blame his poor, innocent girlfriend! Besides, everyone knows _you_ were the one that lit the match. I was just a convenient scapegoat!" She stuck her tongue at him childishly.

"I was trying to light a bloody cigarette, woman! That's no reason to tackle a perfectly innocent bystander to the ground!"

"You told me you quit smoking, you lying scum! And I didn't _tackle_ you, I only _gently_ _pushed_ you aside to get your attention! _You_ were the one who fell over and dropped the match!"

" _Gentle push_? _Fell over_? Are you positively _insane_? That 'gentle push' was enough to send me flying almost ten feet across the room and into the wall! You can't blame me for dropping the match on the couch after you pulled a stunt like that! And how did you manage to hurl me across the room with those girly arms of yours, anyway?"

"Who are you calling _girly arms_? Why I ought to –"

"A_hem_."

"_What?_" they both demanded at once.

Bulma blinked. "Nice to see you too, Charles, Pan. I just wanted to ask how the meeting in the States went."

Chagrined, Charles grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Bulma. You know how it is." Pan grinned innocently in the background.

Bulma smirked knowingly. "I'm sure I do. Now, about that meeting...?"

"Right. Well, as you probably know, the whole affair was a complete waste of time. I know Trunks was pissed last time after he got back, but now I know why. McAllister is a complete and utter moron whose main goal in life is to marry off to his daughter. He has absolutely no business sense, and it's a wonder his company hasn't already gone under."

Bulma sighed. "I suspected so. But even so, we can't afford to lose this deal. You know if we don't get it, our competitors will. And I'm not the type to just roll over and let them have something we want."

Charles rubbed his forehead in frustration. "I agree, but this is nothing short of a circus act, Bulma. I was over there catering to this guy's daughter's every need for the whole week. The only reason I didn't tell both the old man and his idiot daughter to shove it was because I know we can't afford to piss them off. And to make matters worse, McAllister's latest fiancé is visiting the area tomorrow, and of course we're expected to take care of her before he makes his decision."

Bulma scowled. "Who is it _this _time?"

Charles pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't be offended by my choice of words, Bulma, but it's this blue-haired bimbo named Marron."

* * *

After Bulma left, Charles turned his attention back to Pan. "So, was there something you wanted to talk to me about? You sounded pretty weird this morning when I left for work," he asked, concerned.

Pan bit her lip, all of her previous fiery attitude gone. "Yea, there was this one thing," she began awkwardly. "I need to talk to you later tonight. It's... kind of important, so, could you maybe come over after work to my place? I... need to tell you something."

Charles felt suddenly apprehensive. "It has to wait until tonight?"

Pan lowered her eyes. "Yeah, I want to do this the right way. It's not something that should be laid out just like that."

Charles swallowed. "Okay," he agreed hoarsely, trying to calm the nervousness that was rising in his chest. Something bad had happened, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to like it. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to concentrate for the rest of the day at work, either.

"I'll see you then," she whispered and looked at him gravely before walking away, and he knew that he was going to lose something very precious to him that night.

* * *

"Oi, Charles! Look sharp!"

The blonde looked up from his paperwork with a scarcely intelligent-sounding "Huh?" just in time to have the thrown manilla folder smack him full-on in the face. He let out a stream of muffled curses.

"Dende, Charles. What the hell happened to you?" Trunks inquired, brows furrowed in concern. "You look like shit."

"Really," Charles stated sarcastically. "How could you tell?"

Trunks raised an eyebrow. "Well, the fact that your eyes are bloodshot to the point that you look like the ultimate incarnation of evil is a slight giveaway. Or maybe it's the fact that you've run your hands through your hair so many times, it's probably gonna stand up like that for a week. What in Dende's name is going on here, man?"

"Absolutely nothing," he stated flatly. "I just need a fucking break, is all."

"Well, just go ahead and take one then. I'll pick up for you for the rest of today. Go home and get some rest," Trunks ordered, looking at his friend with no small amount of trepidation.

The workaholic in Charles bristled worriedly. "But I've still got this quarter's finances to balance, and Yamada's out for the week, so I've got to find a replacement for her even though it's on such short notice, and then there's the whole thing with McAllister's fiancé..."

Trunks waved a hand dismissively. "I said I'd take care of it, Charles. Stop being such a nerd and just go home and sleep," he stated good-naturedly.

Charles sighed tiredly and shook his head.

"You had to play the nerd card, didn't you?"

Trunks smirked. "Trust me, Charles. Right now, you look _that_ bad."

* * *

Charles woke up from his nap around dusk feeling more human than he had all week. Well-rested but still worried about Pan, he decided to head over to her capsule home early, and he started to get dressed.

"_I... need to tell you something,"_ she had said. 'Fuck,' thought Charles. 'It's not what you said that bothers me,' he thought as he pulled on a pair of socks, stomach knotted with worry.

'It's _how_ you said it.'

* * *

Trunks groaned pathetically as he buried his face into his pillow. There was no way that this was happening so early in the morning. The sun wasn't even up – why did he have to be awake already? And what in Dende's name was making that incredibly irritating ringing noise, anyway?

Briefly, he listed the possibilities in his still sleep-fogged brain. An alarm clock was the most logical explanation for his rather abrupt awakening, but he knew for a fact that it wasn't. He'd smashed his a long time ago, and had never gotten around to replacing it. And besides, his alarm clock didn't ring, it beeped.

It wasn't Marron's, either. Since their wedding was coming up in less than a week, they had decided to keep a distance from each other for the time being. This way, she had reasoned, it would feel more exciting after they were back together again as a married couple, so she had moved back to her parents' house until further notice.

Shit, there it was again. Blinking sleepily several times, Trunks woke himself up enough to realize that it was the doorbell. 'Well,' he thought derisively. 'Whatever fucker is calling at this time of night can just wait out there until he gets a clue and fucks off.' With that, the purple-haired demi-Saiyan rolled over onto his side and tried to go back to sleep.

Five minutes later, and the ringing hadn't stopped. In fact, it was now accompanied by liberal amounts of shouting and banging. Trunks gave up in frustration and let his temper take over.

Cursing loudly, he threw off the covers and stormed out of bed, honing on the weak ki signature of his late-night mystery guest. Realizing with a jolt that it was Charles, Trunks curbed his temper – only very slightly (it was still very late and in his opinion, his friend deserved to reap whatever he had sown) – and opened the door with such ferocity that he very nearly ripped it clear off of its hinges.

"Charles," he demanded furiously, "what in the fucking hell –"

He saw the hit coming far before it even came close to connecting. As if the world was moving in slow motion, everything froze before his eyes, and he instantly registered three things: (1) the uncontrollable anger on his friend's face, (2) there was a fist heading towards his jaw, and (3) if he didn't power down, Charles was going to shatter his knuckles on a jaw bone that was harder than steel.

Cursing inwardly both at his friend and at the fact that his heritage needed to remain a secret, Trunks lowered his ki enough so that when the punch hit his jaw, he stumbled backwards several steps. Although Charles did have a pretty mean right hook for a human, he was, in the end, still only human.

Trunks barely felt the punch, but that didn't make him feel any less pissed.

Charles followed through by grabbing the collar of Trunks' shirt and shoving him backwards into the wall. Trunks ruthlessly crushed his instinct to fight back, since he didn't want to have to explain to the police exactly _how_ his vice president had ended up dead on his property. Gritting his teeth and bearing with this indignity for the time being, he settled for plastering a sneer on his face and focused on trying to get Charles to explain himself.

Looking at his junior's face closely for the first time, Trunks realized suddenly that tears were streaming liberally down Charles' cheeks. This discovery effectively killed any anger the demi-Saiyan had for being attacked, since there was no way that he could've mustered up _any_ feelings of anger for someone that looked _that_ dejected and lost.

"Charles," Trunks tried. "What...what happened?"

The blond didn't seem to register his words, merely tightening his grip on the collar of Trunks' shirt, face still completely serious, tears still pouring down. There was a brief standstill, then, where as Charles glared and simultaneously tried to put to voice what he seemed to have on his mind, Trunks stayed silent – honestly completely at a loss for what else he could do or say.

Never, in all his years, had he ever seen his friend like this before.

"You…" Charles began hoarsely, fighting back more tears.

Trunks' eyes snapped back into focus.

"_You don't deserve her._"

And then the grip on his shirt was gone, and so was his friend.

* * *

**Author's Note:** For those who don't remember, the blue-haired Marron was Kuririn's girlfriend in DBZ, long before he met Juuhachigou. She looked a lot like Bulma but was a complete ditz, and I always thought it was funny that Kuririn ended up naming his daughter after that idiot. Hence, the cameo.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	11. At Last

**Stargazing**

Chapter 11 – At Last

On the morning of the much-anticipated wedding, as I sat on the roof of my space capsule watching the tip of the sun make its first appearance over the horizon, I found myself lost.

It was such a strange feeling. I felt, as I watched the onset of dawn with the sun's first peek over the forest's lush treetops, that I was seeing everything through a shimmering wall of glass. It was so perfect, so _surreal_ in its natural beauty, and yet at the same time I felt that it was horribly, horribly wrong. This sunrise, unlike the hundreds of others that I had witnessed in the morning, scared me.

I almost didn't want to believe that the day I had been dreading had finally come.

It was so quiet, I thought as I closed my eyes tiredly. It was never this quiet in the forest. It was almost unnatural how silent this morning was, something that gave me an odd feeling reminiscent of the lull before a terrible storm...

Or the pause before a viper strikes.

Time has the funny characteristic of seemingly speeding up when you don't want it to, or when you least expect it. Perhaps this was why when I opened my eyes, I was already standing at the altar in my bridesmaid's dress – _where had the rest of this morning gone?_ – with a bouquet of beautiful flowers in my hands. With an overpowering sense of resignation ballooning in my chest, I joined the rest of the crowd in staring expectantly down the aisle, my insides feeling like they were made of lead, my heart pounding in my ribcage, my throat parched dry. We all waited with baited breath for one terrible minute that seemed to last an eternity.

And then there she was.

Gold hair pinned in a manner suitable for a goddess, blue eyes shining with an unspoken but very real, strong and tangible sense of bliss, clad in a simple yet stunning gown of pure, flowing white satin – she was anything and everything at once, gliding down the aisle to meet her beloved, smothered with the crowd's admiration, basking in the face of their wonder – smiling, loving, _glowing_.

If only for this day, she was perfection.

And it was _terrifying_.

And after they exchanged vows, as he caressed her chin gently with his long fingers and lowered his head to brush a feathery kiss on her rosy lips – thereby sealing the sacred pact – the audience rose to their feet and applauded. The thundering applause rose into a roar as they turned, as one, to walk back down the aisle – now man and wife – and as they passed back out the doors the roaring grew in a terrible crescendo that echoed deafeningly in my ears, suffocating me, burning me, _killing_ me.

My heart stopped as a searing pain branded itself in my skull and in my chest, and yet nobody moved, or desisted, and the clapping went on.

As they left, and as the noise reached its climax, I fell to the ground, face in my hands, tears streaking down my cheeks, trying desperately, but uselessly, to stop this terrible agony.

And I screamed my pain to the heavens. I screamed, and I screamed, and I screamed.

* * *

I was still screaming when I woke up, legs tangled in my sheets, skin soaked in sweat, breaths coming in short, laborious puffs.

Near frantic with terror, I lunged for my alarm clock, forced myself to look at and digest the numbers on the device, and realized that it had only been a few hours since Charles had left my capsule house, most likely for the last time.

I completely broke down. I collapsed in a heap, my face in my hands, and sobbed in relief for what seemed like hours.

* * *

I am of the opinion that romance is a game. Unfortunately for a given segment of the human (and nonhuman) population, it is a game that many are born not knowing how to play. With that said, the game is a cruel one. Those who don't know the rules don't succeed, and the slow learners oftentimes make severe blunders that ultimately culminate in disaster.

Needless to say, I was one of the unfortunate ones.

Many people can't imagine what it was like for me, growing up not knowing the rules. Bura and Marron, for example, knew instantly from the moment they hit puberty how to carry themselves in interactions with members of the opposite sex. They were naturals, employing tactics and subtle techniques that were completely beyond my comprehension. They could laugh without reservation, smile mysteriously on command, and flirt without stuttering or losing a beat. They schemed so quietly, thoroughly and successfully – and with such genuine goodness of heart – that both of them, in absolutely no time at all, were held to be at the pinnacle of coolness and popularity by all of the local (and not so local) population.

In contrast, in my teenage years I was both awkward and unfeminine. I stumbled through conversations with attractive boys, blushed far too easily, had no confidence in myself, and ultimately behaved in a manner that was fitting for a walking romantic disaster. By the time that I realized I was in love with Trunks, I was so concerned with not looking like an idiot in front of him that I did the worst thing I could have possibly done in that situation – I didn't tell him.

Everything is clear with hindsight. In this case, life is no different. Now I know that back then, I had nothing to lose. What I _should_ have done was tell him as soon as I had realized it myself. If I had only planted the seed of knowledge in his head early, and if I had only had the brains to grow into the woman I am now _in front of him_, and if I had only reminded him day after day that I was his the moment he would willingly have me...

I would have had a chance.

But there are far too many ifs in that equation. What could have been is not what is.

Nevertheless, looking back can help me in the now. For I realize that currently, I am in the same situation as I was back then.

I have nothing to lose.

Romance is a game in which the stakes are high. I have, quite literally, sucked at this game for the vast majority of my life. But now, I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. I'm at the bottom and I can only go up. I think I can do now what I failed to do then, only because I don't think things can get any worse than they already are.

If I look inside of myself, sometimes I think that I am more than just a little bit pathetic. I am dedicating my life right now to try and win over the man I love. The popular feminist saying goes that no woman needs a man to live. I am inclined to agree. But, if I may take one moment to say, how happily will that woman live if she denies the part of herself that loves that man?

I'm through denying. I've already made Charles suffer the consequences of my poor choices in life. I think, after the night that I came clean with him, that was the closest I have ever come to truly, truly hating myself. I _knew_, before he'd fallen in love with me, that it would never work out between us. I had still let him get close to me and fall in love with me. In the end, I had used Charles and had hurt him terribly.

Ultimately, the one who had to pay the price for my lack of discretion wasn't me.

And there is a small part of me, I'm ashamed to say, that is glad that it wasn't me, because there is still more that I have to do. I might just as easily end up the next casualty in this string of events, because the only thing that's left is to come clean to the one person who started it all...

Trunks.

* * *

I decided to do it the next day. I didn't bother changing out of the training pants and tank top that I had fallen asleep in – I thought if I gave myself one more excuse to put it off, even just for a moment, I might never do it. Besides, he was getting married soon, and time was of the essence. With the nightmare still fresh in my mind, I don't think I could have waited any longer anyhow.

After sneaking past security and his secretaries – _why on Earth does he have three? _– and not bothering to hide my ki signature, I finally walked into his office, palms sweaty and heart beating a mile a minute. I was nervous, which he could probably tell, and I looked like hell, but I was past caring at that point. The only thing fixated in my mind was that I had to talk to Trunks. I was determined to get this over and done with _now_.

"We need to talk, and it can't wait," I demanded. I figured that since the shit was about to hit the fan, the direct approach was the way to go.

He nodded and stood up from behind his desk, looking none too composed himself. "I suppose it was too much to think that you would continue to pretend nothing happened," he replied neutrally. "Although," he added half sadly, half amused, "I was surprised you did so in the first place."

For some reason, that really pissed me off.

"I didn't," I snapped. "I may not have talked about it, and I may not have mentioned it, but I definitely accepted that it had happened," I practically snarled at him, pointing a finger at him for emphasis. "Just so we're clear, I _never_ pretended that it didn't happen."

I took a few deep breaths and reined in my temper. Now was not the time to get angry.

"Besides," I continued once I felt a bit calmer, "that isn't the sort of thing that can be forgotten very easily."

He looked at me and chuckled humorlessly.

"No," he agreed. "It isn't."

We stood in silence for a moment, both thinking of what to say. Trunks sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"You know," he began, "Charles… he came to see me last night."

I started. "What? What happened? What did he say?"

"He was in bad shape. It was in the middle of the night, and he came to my house and started banging on the door. He was crying and shouting, and he tried to pummel my face in. He looked like he'd completely lost it. Honestly, I've never seen him like that before."

I was silent, and then closed my eyes in pain. The guilt was overwhelming.

"It was my fault," I croaked. "I told him everything after work yesterday and we ended up breaking it off. He was completely devastated. I don't think I've ever hurt someone as badly as I hurt him. Nothing else even comes close." I paused and swallowed painfully.

"You don't know what it was like," I whispered, "seeing his expression as I told him to his face that I had betrayed his feelings and had basically used him to try and suppress my own. I felt like the lowest scum on Earth."

My eyes blurred over and I suddenly realized that I was crying. I laughed bitterly. "You know, Trunks, my whole life I promised myself that I'd never get involved in a twisted love affair worthy of the some trashy romance novel. I kept telling myself that I was different from all those other women on the planet who have managed to do so. I was smarter than them, and I knew better. I knew better than to be so stupid or to put myself in such a vulnerable position… or so I thought." I looked at him through tear-stained eyes.

"I don't think I'm so different from them… not anymore," I said honestly.

He looked at me intensely, paused, then replied. "For what it's worth, I think you are."

I gave him a watery laugh. "Why?" I asked, confused.

"I don't think any woman I've ever met has come close to being as amazing as you are," he said quietly.

I stopped breathing.

"What are you saying?" I asked slowly, wiping away the tears so I could see him clearly.

He breathed in deeply, as if gathering his courage, but spoke with his eyes on the floor.

"You really don't know? Just look at what you've _done_. Beaten how many amazing fighters, traveled the galaxy with me and Goku, retrieved a long-lost Saiyan relic, been praised – actually _praised_ – by my father, and most amazingly…"

He looked up at me and smiled.

"You've been the best friend an idiot like me could ever ask for."

I took a moment to let his statement sink in, and then laughed bitterly.

"_Best friend_," I spat. "Always, and _only_. I'll be honest with you, Trunks, because I know if I don't say it now, I probably won't ever have the courage to, ever again."

I looked into his eyes, my heart in my throat, and finally said what I should have said to him years ago.

"Being just your best friend has _never_ been enough," I said, my voice raw with emotion.

Silence.

And then the unimaginable happened.

He _smiled_.

"I know."

I couldn't think what to say, then. I was completely stunned.

"What do you mean, you _know?_"

"I knew it the moment you fell in love with me when you were what, thirteen? Fourteen?"

I must have gaped then, because nothing but a truly bizarre expression on my face could have made him laugh out loud like that.

"Seriously, Pan," he managed between chuckles. "The question you should be asking isn't how I knew. It's _who_ _didn't_."

I was mortified.

"You're telling me," I said slowly, "that you – and other unidentified parties who will remain unnamed thus far – knew _all this time_ that I was, and still am, in love with you?"

He smiled again.

"Yeah."

I don't know why, but at that moment I felt betrayed.

"Why didn't you ever _say_ anything?" I demanded.

"Why didn't _you_?" he retorted.

I couldn't think of anything to say to that and just stood there, looking stricken.

He sighed. "Look, Pan. I was an idiot. I never took your feelings seriously, nor did anyone else who knew, for that matter. Everyone thought you had a normal teenager's crush and that you'd get over it eventually. I'm sorry if I'm being unkind, but that's how it was."

"Was," I repeated numbly.

"Yeah, _was_," he snapped, suddenly sounding angry with himself. "I realized after a while that you had honestly, truly, _deeply_ fallen for me. How could I not? No one has _ever_ looked at me the same way you look at me _– like I'm the only one that matters_. Do you have any idea what it's like to have someone think so highly of you? Do you have any idea how it _feels_?"

He glared at me, as if it would prompt me to answer. I didn't.

He snorted, and looked away as if embarrassed with what he was about to say next.

"It… makes you feel like despite the fact that you may hate yourself, and despite the fact that you hate the type of person you've become… you might actually be _worth_ something."

I was silent. I stared at him, standing there framed in his office window, the city's skyscrapers below and behind him. I remember thinking that just then, he looked like a prince.

"It makes you feel like… there's nothing you can't do," he finished.

He took a moment to gather himself, then walked around to the front of his desk. I didn't move from where I had been standing in the middle of the room. Suddenly, we were standing across from one another in a way that was reminiscent of our last encounter. I swallowed.

"So here we are," I tried lamely.

He ignored me, and tilted his head to the side as if in thought. Then he seemed to make a decision, and stepped forwards so that we were standing just over a foot apart. Suddenly I needed more room to breathe.

He put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me seriously.

"Pan," he said, "I can't tell you what you want to hear from me. I can't tell you that I love you, _ever_."

I let out the breath that I hadn't known I was holding. I had prepared myself for hearing something like that from him, but it had hurt far less coming from my subconscious than from him. I felt like I had been stabbed in the chest.

And suddenly, I couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

"Thanks for clearing that up," I managed to say after trying to compose myself and failing. I was crying freely now, and nothing I could do would stop it, so I turned away from him so he wouldn't be able to see my face. "I'm sorry about the misunderstanding. I promise you it won't happen again."

Knowing that I wouldn't be able to keep it in much longer, I hurriedly turned to go. I wouldn't let him see me break – I had far too much pride for that.

"Pan, wait –" he said, sounding panicked.

That was the last straw. I flared my ki and blasted out of there, shattering the glass of his window and not caring. I flew as fast as I could towards the forest near my capsule house, breaking the sound barrier and still flaring my power to continue accelerating. I couldn't stand being in that room, with him, for a single moment longer.

A flash of gold registered in my peripheral vision, and suddenly he was in front of me.

I think I might have lost it then. I screamed in rage, pain, and hurt and attacked him. I punched and kicked and scratched and bit and went completely berserk on him. All coherent thought left me; the only thing that remained in my heart and my mind was the desire to hurt him.

It was the desire to hurt him as much as he'd hurt me.

And all through it, he took everything I threw at him with an infuriating calm. By the time I tired myself out, he was bleeding from wounds on his face and arms where I had scratched and bit him. Then, as I floated there in the sky, physically and emotionally exhausted, panting tiredly and still crying, he rubbed at his wounds and watched me guardedly.

"Okay, what I said back there came out wrong. Will you please _listen_ to me for one second before jumping to conclusions and going completely bat-shit on me?"

I was too tired to reply. I just stayed where I was, wiped the tears from my face, and tried to make sense of what was happening.

"Look," Trunks began, "you've read what they write about me in magazines. You know I have a reputation for being a womanizer, and how the fact that I'm filthy rich doesn't help things. I hate to admit this, especially to you, but I have been with _scores_ of women. I've said 'I love you' to so many of them that the phrase has pretty much lost all meaning to me. And I can never say that to you because there is no _way_ what I feel for you can _ever_ be compared to anything I experienced before."

I opened my mouth to interrupt, but he held up a hand.

"Please, just let me finish."

I looked at him tiredly and nodded.

He swallowed, then continued. "My father told me the history of the _Kalashnar_ the other day. He told me that the stone is the legacy of our race, representative of everything we ever stood for and fought for. The idea that I would have to entrust it to my mate to wear and guard until the next heir comes of age was a real eye-opener to me. Do you know what the first thing that came into my head was?"

I shook my head.

"I thought that there was no _way_ that I could entrust something as valuable as this to any woman on this planet – Marron included. I thought that the only person I really and truly could _trust_ to protect it – was you."

He took the necklace out from under his shirt then, and looked at it ponderingly.

"And then I thought to myself," he said quietly, "why would I give my heart to a woman I wouldn't even give this piece of jewelry to?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Pan," he continued, "I can't deny the fact that I care about Marron. We grew up together and she has always been one of my closest friends. But no one has ever _gotten_ me quite like you. You really _understand_ me, and I don't think I'm ever as happy or as comfortable as I am when I'm around you. Like… you remember how we always used to finish each other's sentences when we were kids? And how just hanging out with you would cheer me up after I had a bad day at school? And do you remember the time we beat the socks off of Goten and Bura that time me and Goten were drunk and we decided to play let's-see-how-much-you-know-about-your-teammate? There's no one else who knows me as well as you do, and honestly, I don't think I'll ever find someone who has been through as much with me as you have. You know what? I don't think I'll ever find someone who means what you mean to me, even if I lived forever and scoured the galaxy. I guess… I guess what I'm trying to say is…"

He swallowed, dropped the necklace back under his shirt, and looked straight at me.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that you… are the one who was meant to _complete_ me."

I was crying again.

"And the wedding?" I managed to croak out past the tears.

"There is no wedding anymore, Pan," he said quietly. "You may have hurt Charles terribly last night, but I think I hurt Marron even more when I told her everything I'm telling you right now."

I put my hand over my mouth, closed my eyes, and sobbed quietly. Trunks flew over to me, but recognized that I didn't want to be touched. Nevertheless, just having him near me was enough.

"Are you alright?" he asked me quietly.

I nodded, tears still streaming down my face.

"I'm happier than I've been in a long time," I told him in a whisper between sobs.

"Then why are you crying?"

"I'm crying… because I've been waiting to hear you say that to me for longer than I can remember."

* * *

We stayed there, standing on air with the backdrop of the open skies behind us, for hours.

Neither of us moved or said anything. It was a very companionable silence. Both of us recognized the fact that we needed time to digest and process everything that had happened that day.

Eventually, night fell. I looked up at the sky and stared up at the stars, Trunks at my side, and watched as rolling gray clouds moved in from the horizon. Soon a storm kicked to life around us, its winds howling, thunder booming, and rain falling.

Trunks flew around to face me, gave me a devious smile that melted my heart, and then flew up to whisper in my ear:

"It's raining."

I cocked my head to the side, smiling, but not quite understanding his meaning. He flew backwards, turned around to take in our turbulent surroundings, then faced me again, flashing me that gorgeous smile again.

"It's raining," he said again, "so…"

He extended one hand to me.

"Will you fly with me?"

I stared at him in realization, then laughed and took his hand.

That night, the two of us danced in the sky to the music of the storm, the rain, and the clouds.

And finally, I knew I could stop stargazing.

**THE END**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


	12. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

_(Three years later)_

"Takeda-sensei."

"What is it, Shinta?" growled Ken, not bothering to look up from his work. "I asked not to be disturbed."

"There's someone here to see you, sensei."

Takeda looked up from the piece he was working on and scowled. "I wasn't aware I had any appointments today."

"The gentleman outside doesn't have an appointment, sir."

Ken snorted. "Well, tell him to make one and come back later. You know the rules."

Shinta paused. "I really think you should see this particular customer, sir."

Ken looked up and narrowed his eyes, studying his apprentice closely. The boy had grown remarkably in these past few years and was becoming more and more confident with his skill with each passing day. Recognizing the expression on the boy's face and sighing, Ken gave in.

"Who is it?" he asked as he slowly eased himself out of his chair.

"It's someone important, sensei."

Ken sighed tiredly and took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. "It always is, Shinta. You know, I think I'm getting too old for this."

"I don't know what you're talking about, sensei," Shinta replied politely.

* * *

Takeda walked to the front of his shop and saw an eerily familiar-looking young man standing in the middle of the room. He was tall and leanly muscular, with chiseled features, tan skin, intensely bright blue eyes, and the most remarkable hair Takeda had ever seen. Takeda was a traditionalist – he was strongly opposed to men who wore their hair long – but despite the fact that the stranger's lavender locks fell down to his shoulders, it was a look that, strangely, Ken thought suited him.

Upon the jeweler's entry into the room, the stranger smiled and bowed politely.

"It's an honor to meet you, Takeda-san," he said smoothly. "I apologize for inconveniencing you. My name is Trunks Briefs."

Ken may not have followed the happenings of the world very closely, but even _he_ recognized that last name.

"You'll be Bulma Brief's boy, eh?" he extrapolated aloud. "I haven't seen her since I commissioned a pair of earrings for her what, a little over ten years ago? How is she?"

"My mother is well, Takeda-san, thank you for asking."

Ken caught himself studying his impromptu visitor's face closely. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had seen him before. "Are you sure we haven't met before? You look awfully familiar, young man."

Trunks smiled. "I have never met you before today, Takeda-san, but I have heard many good things about you from people who have been very pleased with your work."

Ken shrugged. "So what can I do for you, boy?"

"I came to ask if you would be willing to commission a piece for me, Takeda-san."

Takeda frowned. "I'd be more than happy to help you, but I can't be sure that I'll have the time. I'm very busy at the moment with other commissions, and you're here without an appointment on top of that."

Trunks smiled sheepishly. "I apologize for that, Takeda-san. To be honest, I was going to go to another jeweler for the piece I have in mind, but I made a last-minute decision to come here instead, at my father's insistence."

Ken raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And who is your father?"

Trunks blinked, then looked over at Shinta, who shook his head. He ran a hand through his hair and thought quickly. He hadn't expected this.

"My father is Prince Vejita, Takeda-san," he finally said simply.

Ken was floored.

Suddenly he knew exactly where he had seen Trunks' features before. "No wonder!" he exclaimed aloud. "You're the spitting image of your sire!"

Trunks smiled sheepishly again and tried not to laugh. Behind Takeda, Shinta had slapped a hand to his forehead in disbelief.

"Thank you, Takeda-san," he managed.

"Well that changes everything, young ouji-sama," Ken continued. "I would be honored to commission any piece you request of me."

Trunks blinked. "So you'll be able to do it?"

"Of course!" was Takeda's reply. "I wouldn't dream of turning away the son of Vejita-oujisama. Speaking of which," the old man said suddenly, "do you know what he's done with the necklace I commissioned for him a few years ago? He never did tell me what it was for, or where he'd gotten that remarkable stone from."

Trunks smiled. "He gave the necklace to me, Takeda-san, and I gave it to someone else several years ago. But I can assure you that the person I entrusted it to is taking very good care of it."

The old jeweler nodded, then clapped his hands together and rubbed them enthusiastically. "Well then, young master. Shall we get down to business? What sort of piece did you have in mind for today?"

Trunks thought for a moment.

"How much do you know about engagement rings?"

* * *

**Author's Note:** Holy freaking shit. I can't believe I'm finally done! This story has been in the making for so long that quite honestly, there was a time I thought I'd never finish it.

I'm going to say now that this will most likely be the last time I ever delve in this fandom. DB/Z/GT has been a favorite of mine for a long time, but I think I've exhausted the possibilities with _Stargazing_. With that said, I think I'll definitely continue to write and post here . If any of you are interested in Bleach or Avatar: the Last Airbender, feel free to drop by my profile and check out the many one-shots I've posted there. (Yes, I'm shamelessly plugging my other fics, but I only get to do this end-of-story A/N thing once, so forgive me.)

As always, thank you to all of those who have read my story, reviewed, and given me encouragement. It's been quite a ride. Thank you for sticking with me this far.

D.S.

5/20/08

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Any and all characters belonging to Dragonball/Z/GT are the legal property of Toriyama Akira and/or FUNimation.


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